


In search of redemption

by Nikkitosa



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bard/ OC, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkitosa/pseuds/Nikkitosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A witch carries a heavy burden from the past, a battle she lost.When a party of dwarves comes at her doorstep in search of help, they offer her a new chance to mend her wrongs.But will Fate be merciful and allow her redemption,or she will have to witness another city engulfed in flames? And what about those pestering men? Slight Thorin/OC in the beginnig, eventual Bard/OC! Rating may change!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ice Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have been working on this baby for some months now and my hands itch to upload it and see what people think. Yet before you proceed, there are a few things you MUST know!  
> 1\. My OC (Isis) is a witch/sorceress, meaning she's the child of a wizard and a human... yes, I made it up and yes, I know it sounds stupid, but you have to know she's not like Gandalf and the other Wizards that were send to Middle Earth. She has a longer life-span than humans, but isn't immortal; she doesn't wield any other magic but the one she's born with - a.k.a. ice and its composing elements - water and air to a certain extend.  
> 2\. Since it's been a while since I watched the movies, some parts may seem misplaced or in a complete mess, but bear with me, pleaseee! I try my best to keep as close to the original plot as possible without retelling you the movie itself.  
> 3\. At first the main pairing was planned to be Thorin/OC, but eventually I changed my mind, so now it's Bard/OC but in later chapters... bear with me, please (again...)  
> And this is it,  
> Review And Enjoy!  
> 

The forest is silent. As I creep further into its debris I can’t help but notice that all the wild life that used to flourish around here is gone. There are no birdsongs, no pesky squirrels dashing around and throwing nuts at you, no deer looking all dewy-eyed. Nothing. This disappearance of all creatures has been going on for some time now so I decided to investigate. Yet the deeper I walk into the once welcoming lush vegetation, the more I realise something is awfully wrong. With each and every day the forest dies a little – as if something is drinking it dry.  
Cautiously taking a few more steps, I catch a movement far ahead. Squinting, I manage to distinguish a dozen creatures that remind me of huge spiders. A cold shiver runs down my spine just by the sight of them. Leaning over the rock I’m currently hiding behind, I barely manage to muffle my own yelp. There, near the river, those gruesome creatures are tearing apart a whole deer herd. Not eating them, just violently killing and disjoining them. For a second I look away, too disgusted to keep my eyes planted there, yet after taking a deep breath and chasing away the nausea I rise and hit the ground with my staff, making the space around me freeze. In a blink of an eye ten frost warriors jump from their hiding places and attack. Quickly I follow behind, pulling my sword from behind my back and swinging it at the first giant spider that comes my way.  
In a few minutes time almost all of those abominations are dead, only two managing to get away. My group and I chase after them up to the very borders of the forest. Climbed on a huge rock I watch as they run away in the direction of a place I hoped would never bring trouble again. ‘Dol Goldur.’

*`*`*

We head back as word arrived that someone has invaded my lands. The watcher, a frost canary, reported that a group of dwarves, escorted by a wizard and a hobbit were running away from Orcs. Upon hearing that I assemble all ten of my ice warriors and we race back towards my house.  
True to the words of the watcher, the group that so recklessly entered my domains consists mostly of dwarves and, indeed, a wizard is escorting them. As soon as all fourteen of them get into the tidy cottage where it’s safe and lock the door I run forward, followed close behind by my soldiers. The Orcs, despite being more in number are not prepared for the frost storm that hits them and so they end up scurrying away. Frowning I send four ice warriors after them, just to make sure they don’t decide to return. Only then do I proceed with going home. Placing my staff and sword on my back, I give a signal to the rest of my squad to enter the house. They disappear through hidden tunnels and doors and soon from inside I can hear shouting, swords meeting with ice and the breaking of various, probably valuable, things.  
“For the love of the Great Mother…” I mutter and take a few long strides, melting away the distance.  
Tapping on the wood, where I know on the other side lays the wooden beam, I hear the distinguishable creaking noise and then a thud before with a light push the door swings open.  
“Enough!” I command.  
The reaction from my squad is immediate – they stop whatever fighting activity they were doing and only point their weapons at the unwanted guests. As I walk in and notice all the mess, my frown deepens.  
“If this is your way of stopping by and saying hi, Gandalf, you are no longer welcome in my home. Or at least what’s left of it.” despite my rather dry tone, a smirk tugs at the corners of my mouth.  
“I’m greatly sorry, Isis, but we were in a rather difficult situation.” his mild voice sounds tired, yet genuine.  
“Ah, noticed the little party group that came along.” I nonchalantly say before picking up a painting from the ground.  
Unfortunately the once magnificent piece of artwork is now in shreds. With a sigh I throw it in the burning fireplace.  
“Dismissed!” the command quickly gets my squad moving.  
The weapons are retracted and the warriors quickly take their places outside the house. Now I’m left in the living room with a bunch of dwarves and a troublesome wizard.  
“Long time no see, Mithrandir.” I whisper as I bow my head in a greeting.  
“Too long if I may add. It’s a blessing to see that you haven’t lost an ounce of your charm and battle spirit.”  
With a chuckle I grab the tumbled over sofa and push it back up.  
“Nay. Now, pray tell, what brings you and your….” I look at the rest of the group, all their faces either a mask of cautiousness and distrust or straight hostility “… friends in my lands? Chased by Orcs, none the less.”  
“Ah… that’s a rather long story.” the wizard gives me one of his famous ‘it’s important but let’s not talk about it right now’ looks and I arch an eyebrow his way.  
“I have enough time to spear to hear you out. But first – clean up this mess.” and I nod towards the chairs that have been pushed over and all the things rolling around.  
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”  
After that last addition I go into the kitchen and check if everything is cooking nicely. After that I go to my room and after a quick washing-up and a change of clothes, go back down only to find everyone sitting around the table, which is finely laid with all the food and drinks that would be needed.  
“I’m pleased to see you have made yourselves at home.” I rumble and take my place at the head of the table.  
“I hope you’re not mad?” sensing my foul mood, Gandalf is quick the check if they haven’t crossed a line.  
“It’s not every day I let someone in my house, let alone a bunch of dwarves. No offence. Yet tonight you are my guests, so I guess I’ll take this as a peace offering after nearly destroying my home.”

*`*`*

We all eat in an awkward and tense silence; only the occasional request for the bread to be passed interrupts the otherwise irritating atmosphere. When finally fed, I look at Gandalf expectantly, eager to hear what he has to say. Yet, to my utter amazement, he glances at one of the dwarves which seems to be the leader, as if asking him whether he’ll be okay with what’s to happen. Frowning I tap on the table and immediately all the liquids freeze.  
Unfortunately one of the dwarves, a plum one with ginger hair, was taking a sip at that very moment, which resulted in the goblet sticking to his mouth.  
“Gweth thwes twing away fwo mwe!” his frantic shout is muted by the bellow of laughter that erupts from the rest of the group.  
Even Gandalf is smiling, despite his best attempts not to.  
Yet the dwarf sitting right across of me seems rather irritated by what’s going on. His blue eyes remind me of two icicles as his gaze travels around the table, finally stopping on me. ‘Colder than the heart of a snowstorm. How fitting for a King.’ I muse and with a sly smirk tilt my head to the side, indicating that I’m all ears for any upcoming discontent he may have. Yet he just glares at me before looking away, obviously not amused. With a low hum and a tap on the wooden table, all the drinks return to their natural state. The whole company seems exhilarated by what just happened, even the fellow whose drink froze in his mouth, and now all of them are looking at me, bombarding me with questions.  
“How did you do that?”  
“Do it again!”  
“What else can you do??”  
Everyone tries to outshout the others and soon the room is overtaken by a deafening cacophony. Gandalf tries to calm them down, but his voice is barely heard. And me, I just blink their way, not expecting such turn of events.  
“ENOUGH!” a booming voice silences the dwarves in a second.  
The table shakes after the fists of the dwarf in front of me make an attempt to cut it in two.  
“Ah, better. Indeed, with less courtesy but effective none the less.” Gandalf muses, running a hand over his greyish beard.  
“Now, since we are all finally settled, how about the promised story?” I offer in a rather nice tone.  
“Yes, yes, the story…” again the Grey wizard steals a glance at the dwarf on his left and that angers me, yet I make no attempt to voice it.  
“Shall I start from the very beginning?” the wizard hushes as he lights his pipe.  
“Of course – you know I like details.” I smile yet the warmth doesn’t reach my eyes.  
The same dwarf, curse him, is now straightforwardly glaring my way! From across my table, in my house! ‘The nerve!’  
“I’m presuming you have heard a few things? Your ears always managed to catch what was happening far away from your lands.” the knowing look Gandalf gives me makes me huff, yet nod in agreement.  
“Ah. You have assembled this group in quest to reclaim something of great value.” I make sure my voice shows nothing, as the dwarves are famous not only for their fighting spirit but their secrecy – someone who knows too much can easily be seen as an enemy.  
“Indeed. This is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. The rightful King of Erebor, the King under the Mountain. And our quest is to help return the Durin’s folk its home. The prophecy will be fulfilled.”  
Silence falls upon us as I look Gandalf straight in the eyes in search of something he may not be telling me. Yet, his earnest stare leaves no doubt that he’s truthful.  
“You have gone mad, Gandalf.” I whisper and shake my head in disbelief. “Do you really believe that 13 dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard can defeat Smaug!? Have you forgotten what befell Dale and Erebor?!?!”  
I’m gritting my teeth, anger bubbling deep in me, as memories of those horrific days flash in front of my eyes. Days I wish I could forget. Days of death and blood and fire.  
Thorin is about to say something, obviously infuriated by my words, but Gandalf interferes before the quarrel even starts.  
“I understand your unwillingness to see that beast woken up once again, but the signs are clear – Smaug will be defeated and the Mountain will return to its rightful King.”  
I close my eyes and rub my temples, feeling a headache forming and a recent sickness resurfacing. It first appeared when the forest started dying and those spiders started taking root here; the more they came closer to my home, the worse I felt. Gritting my teeth I take a deep breath and look at Gandalf. His calm, pleading eyes beg me to at least show understanding and not kick them out. Not that I ever would, yet that look makes me wonder what exactly is going on. ‘He knows something is wrong.’  
“You know that I, more than anyone who’s not a dwarf, want to see Erebor free from that slimy creature’s grasp. But with what power will you manage to kill it?”  
“We have our ways, witch. Do not bother your consciousness with such things.” it is Thorin’s snide remark that catches me off-guard.  
Narrowing my eyes at him, I hiss back:  
“Do not forget you are in my home, dwarf! And I do not take kindly to such tongue. Either keep that mouth of yours shut or you’ll sleep outside.”  
There’s a dangerous flash in his eyes and I can almost see the dark clouds forming over his head, yet I ignore him, knowing that further words will only worsen the situation.  
“I find it noble that you are going to try to reclaim Erebor, I really do, yet apart from shelter for the night and food, I’m not sure I can’t offer you anything else.”  
By the sound of that, I notice a spark in Gandalf’s eyes disappearing and strange sadness taking its place. Yet he doesn’t argue or comment, just nods and hushes the dwarves to where they have laid their sleeping-bags. It’s hard not to notice the disappointment and anger in them as they pass me by and go to the other room.  
“Gandalf. May I have a word?” I call after him.  
He just nods and I lead him out of the house through the back door. The night’s veil has fallen and bathed my garden in its colours. In the distance I can spot an ice solder, hiding in the crown of a tree.  
“I’ll be honest, as I know you already know, if not have guessed. Something is going on, Gandalf. Something is killing the forest and tries to banish me. I came across giant spiders today – we chased them to the borders of my lands. They headed to Dol Goldur.” I whisper the name of the abandoned fortress, afraid that someone may hear us, despite the fact that we are the only ones around.  
The Grey wizard puffs at his pipe and his eyes dart around, as if studying the surrounding. Only now do I notice his distressed face, stiff posture and the worry in those otherwise mild eyes of his.  
“He was defeated long ago, Isis, never to return.” his voice is rasp and low, as if he’s trying to convince mostly himself.  
“Yet this dark magic can be no one else’s. ” his silence worries me, as it can only mean this is not the first time he hears of this. “What have you seen, Gandalf?”  
“Nothing. But Radagast send one of his messengers. He told me what he saw.”  
“What?”  
“The same spiders. He followed them.”  
“Let me guess – they led him to that forsaken fortress?” I wrinkle my nose in disgust.  
“Aye. He said… he said he saw the Necromancer there.”  
We fall into silence, lost in our own thoughts. That’s until a rustling is heard. I quickly jump up, ready to attack whoever it is. Yet one of the ice soldiers comes forward and stiffly nods his head in acknowledgement and greeting.  
“Report!” I bark at him, my previous bad mood getting the best of me.  
“The spiders returned, yet we killed them. The source of the darkness is still unfound. Most of the inhabitants of the forest are either dead or gone.” his flat, emotionless voice slips between his barely parted lips.  
“Dammit!” I curse and start pacing around. “And the Orcs?”  
“They still have not returned.”  
“Are you expecting them to?” Gandalf speaks and I almost jump out of my skin, completely having forgotten about his presence.  
“They were no ordinary Orcs. I have seen their type – hunters. And it seems like you and your company are their target. I’m smart enough to put two and two together, old friend. They will be back and soon.”  
Without another word I turn back to the ice warrior and command him to return to his place and prepare to defend the borders when the enemy returns. After he’s gone and it’s only Gandalf and me I turn to him and for a first time let my mask fall.  
“I’m worried Gandalf, and I know you are too. By sunrise this place will be surrounded by those hideous creatures.”  
“Indeed.” he puffs at his pipe and looks at me with that expectant look of his.  
“One of my warriors will get you all out of here and back to your path. Where exactly are you leading them, if you do not mind me asking?”  
“Rivendell. We have questions and the elves there may have the answers.”  
“I can imagine you have not told them that? It’s common knowledge that dwarves despise elves for what they did when Erebor fell.”  
“Ahh… Thorin will live through it somehow.” the look in his eyes tells me that Gandalf will bend earth but go to the elves, despite Oakenshield’s protests.  
Smirking at his determination and clear irritation with the conflict between the two races I nod my head.  
“I know it’s not common of me to go against what I said, but I will. It’s been too long since I isolated myself here. It’s high time I do something productive.”  
“But what about your home?” despite his best attempts to hide it, the victory and hope in the wizards eyes brightens his whole face.  
“These lands will hold no more. If I stay, I’ll get sucked in as well. And why die here when I can be helpful elsewhere?” I try to joke, yet my throat clenches painfully.  
“Everyone who remembers those dark days also remembers what you did to protect Dale. No one will blame you for not being able to take on a drake on your own.” the soothing tone of his voice manages to aid my nerves, yet guilt still lingers.  
“I could have tried, done better. Only if I knew, if I had read the signs sooner.”  
“The blame is not on you, Isis. You fought well and saved a lot of innocent lives. That’s what you should be happy for, not those you didn’t manage to reach.”  
I nod and take a deep breath. Within a minute I have made my mind and look at Gandalf.  
“Tell me what you want me to do – go see what’s hiding in that fortress or help your group?” my voice is no longer weak and shaky, but determined.  
“For now stay here and fight away the Orcs, win us some time. If I’m not mistaken, you won’t be on your own.” his smirk makes me raise an eyebrow in a silent question.  
Yet he doesn’t say a word, just pats me on the shoulder and gets back in. I, on the other hand, stay outside for a little while longer, admiring the stars.

*`*`*

“You have a wonderful garden.” a shy voice comes from behind me and I jump up.  
Turning around I notice that the hobbit, Bilbo, has sneaked behind me. Smirking his way and nodding I offer him to sit next to me.  
“You indeed are living up to your reputation of a burglar, Master Baggings. I never heard you coming, and I have a keen hearing.” he blushes at my remark and starts fiddling with his fingers all the meanwhile trying to apologize.  
“Worry not, I’m not angry at you. I just stated the obvious. Gandalf has thought well to bring you along to this quest.”  
“Well… yeah… you see…. I’m not a thief….”  
I laugh at his bizarre reaction. He seems taken aback, a little bit shocked, but soon laughs along.  
“Master Baggings, you seem to not know your own worth.” I smile his way.  
For a second he seems amazed and I raise an eyebrow his way.  
“Is something bothering you?”  
“No.. I-I mean… Well back there you were rather cold towards us. Not that I blame you for that. If someone burst into my home like that… well, never mind… ” he stops, puffs and closes his eyes, as if concentrating on what exactly he wants to say. “What I meant to say is that now you seem a lot more approachable and less… icy, so to say.”  
His sheepish smile combined with the badly hidden worry make me chuckle.  
“I’m after all the Ice Witch, Master Baggings. It’s almost expected of me to be icy towards those who I do not know.”  
He nods his head in agreement, as if not having thought of it that way.  
“So it’s true. That you created and command those … creatures. Ice warriors?”  
“Ah, indeed. I see Gandalf spoke of me to you.”  
The young hobbit only nods, while intently studying his feet.  
“What did he describe me as?” I inquire, curious to know whether Gandalf portrayed me as a complete ice queen.  
“He… He… He said you were rather straight-forward and stubborn. But have a good heart and may help us, even if it’s just with shelter. He also said you control the ice?” his last sentence is almost whispered and he looks at me with the corner of his eyes, waiting for a reaction.  
I’m sure my sudden laughter is the last he expected, because his confused expression does no good in making me calm down.  
“Oh, that old bag. He depicted me pretty well in only a few sentences.” I manage to whisper after regaining my breath.  
“Oh my, so it is true!? I have never heard of an ice bender before! Why are there no stories of your kin, if I may ask?”  
“Because there’s no such kin, Master Baggings. I’m the only one left. And there are no tails about the likes of me because we were too secretive to let the others know of our existence. That’s partly the reason why we disappeared I believe- there was no one to help us because no one knew we were even there. I’m sure my kin beats even the elves and dwarves in this matter.” Despite the sad smile on my face I somehow manage to laugh a little bit at the last part.  
“Oh, I’m truly sorry to hear that.”  
“Why so?”  
“Because it’s sad… They were your people, they deserved to be saved. Any life deserves to be saved and cherished.”  
I’m left amazed and gaping at the words that come out of the hobbit’s mouth and it takes me a minute to compose myself and smile at him.  
“You do indeed have a huge heart, Bilbo Baggings. And it’s because of the likes of you I still have hope that this world may turn out to be a better place.”  
He smiles and blushes at my comment, obviously not used to such words directed his way.  
“Thorin Oakenshield and his company are really lucky to have a Hobbit as yourself with them. Now go rest, as tomorrow may prove to be a long and tiring day.”  
We enter the house and with only a silent nod as a farewell, we part ways. He returns to his sleeping-bag near the others and I go to my room.  
Sleep, for a first time in a while, comes easy and fast. I do not dream of burning buildings, screaming people, dwarves trapped in a mountain or a fire breathing dragon. This time I do not dream of what had been, but of what may be. For I now have a new purpose to fight.


	2. Clear the way

I wake up early the next morning and after quickly preparing a travel pack and fastening my weapons all around my body, I go downstairs. Tip-toeing into the living room I find that all the dwarves are still sleeping soundly – some snoring pretty intensely. The room is bathed in darkness as the sun hasn’t risen yet, so I let them rest and go to the kitchen. After making sure that the breakfast is cooking and the fire will turn itself down when the food is ready, I check whether my staff and sword are comfortably fastened on my back and exit the house through the back door. The grass is still drenched in dew and the air is fresh and nipping. I take a few deep gulps before striding towards the forest. My squad is positioned around the border but before going to check what has happened during the night, I stride around the woods in search of a forester, whose help I will need throughout the day. Soon I find the cave and, pulling my staff from its belt, I hit the ground three times. For a second nothing happens, but then a low growl erupts from within and the distinguishable clatter of claws echoes. The first rays of the sun are soon to appear and I know that there are no minutes to spear right now.   
“Why did you summon me, Ice Witch?” a voice, deep and animalistic, growls from within.  
“I came to collect your debt, Fenrir.” my voice is clear and strong, filled with power, yet neither rude, nor commanding.  
A flash of green slips past the darkness of the cave and a strange sound comes from within. It takes me a moment to realise that it is laughter – it sounds like someone is choking on a bone.  
“And for what shall you need me, Witch?”   
“To kill some Orcs. You still hold a grudge against them, I presume?” leaning casually on my staff I try not to show that I’m in a hurry.  
Fenrir, the last Dire wolf, has been residing in this cave ever since I came and took the land. Our dealings reach the level of acknowledgement of the other and not meddling in their business. Yet once he had no other choice but to ask me for a favour, in exchange for one on his own. Since he’s the great beast in front of which everybody trembles, he most probably didn’t expect me to come to him any time soon.  
“I’m in a hurry, Fenrir. Are you coming or you’d prefer to stay in your cave and let the Orcs burn the forest down to the ground?” I’m betting against my luck with my rather irritated tone, but I know soon the dwarves will be up and I must be ready to clear their path.   
“Don’t try my patience, Witch!” he growls and finally his head emerges from within the cave.  
I’m barely reaching his eye-level and that’s mostly due to his halfway kneeled position. Fenrir’s massive muzzle with clear snow-white fur, flashing green eyes and a mouth filled with dagger-like teeth ends up barely a hand away from me. If he wishes with a simple snap he can cut me in half.   
“What is that you seek of me, Isis?” this time there’s no arrogance, yet animalistic need to kill.  
“A group of dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard need to run away from here. On our borders there are around thirty or so Orcs, ready to kill them. We must take care of them and offer the dwarves a clear exit until their reach the hidden passage leading to Rivendell. ”  
“And then I’m free from your hold?” he tilts his head to the side and bares his teeth at me in a terrifying sort of a smile.   
“Aye. I’ll leave you to prepare. Come at my house in an hour.”  
With that I bow my head, turn around and leave.  
My next stop is near the west border, from where I have the chance to spy on the small army of Orcs that has gathered during the night. Unfortunately they aren’t alone – there are quite a few Wargs present and I have a bad feeling more are lurking around.  
“They seem ready to move…” I muse and frown.  
“Assemble the others. Meet me at the house in an hour.” I command the ice soldier next to me and leave.

*`*`*

The trek back home seems rather short as I keep a fast pace and only throw sideway glances at the darkened trees and dried patches of ground here and there. Fortunately I don’t run into any spiders as I go along, only some pretty thick webs. By the time I reach the house the sun has almost completely risen, bathing the land in orange and pink hues. I let myself admire the scenery for a second before continuing my walk. The front door opens on its own when I near it and upon entering the living room I notice that the table is piled up with food and the dwarves are expecting me. I take off my hood that kept my auburn hair away from the moisture and nod in salute.   
“Where have ya been, lass? We got worried!” Balin, the fair-spoken of the group, says.   
I give them a small smile before I nod towards the food.  
“Help yourselves. We are leaving soon and you’ll need all the strength you can muster. Take as much as you think you can carry for your journey.”  
With that I run up the stairs and into my room. There are a few things I need to add to my bag – some herbs and bandages, a few small daggers, another set of clothes, clean socks and my whetstone. After that I check if my sword, quite the big fella, is still fastened well enough on my back so that it wouldn’t fall down. I do the same with my staff. Then I take a look in the mirror and realise that I cannot go in battle with my long hair out in the open. So with a sigh I quickly braid it in a nice simple braid, with only a few stubborn strands loose.  
“Will do.” I mutter and grab my bag.  
Running down the stairs I throw the bag near my chair and take a sit. I put some eggs, vegetables and three pancakes in my plate.  
“Who… who eats steak for breakfast?” I ask before quickly devouring the eggs.  
Bombur, the same dwarf whose drink froze in his mouth, takes a nice big bite from his piece of nicely cooked meat and smiles at me while chewing.   
“Fair enough.” I say and continue eating, all the meanwhile talking with Gandalf, who is sitting across the table.  
“We’ll clear your way as far south as we can. Yet, in any case, don’t stop running. My soldiers may be hard to destroy but those Wargs seemed pretty gruff half an hour ago.”  
By the hearing on those creatures’ name, the whole group grows silent. I look at them and see the fear that creeps in their eyes. Even Thorin seems worried.  
“Like I said – just run. Leave the rest to us. We’ll take good care of the Orcs and their pups.” with that I quickly eat my last pancake and put the cutlery down.  
“When did you manage to…” Bilbo seems amazed by the speed with which I ate everything in my plate.  
“I have a fast metabolism, Master Baggings. I can eat twice my weight in less than twenty minutes and be good to go. Now, if I’m not mistaken, it is time to go.”   
With that they all rise simultaneously and start preparing. As I look at them, I can’t help but notice how well they work together, despite the chaos of one throwing something to another. In less than five minutes they are ready and we exit the house. Outside, all ten of my ice soldiers are waiting in two lines. Made completely from magical ice, they don’t melt or break as easily as the normal one would. I created them big and with a heavy build, with a pair of twin swords each and only three with a bow. Only Gandalf is as tall as them, and that’s with his hat on. Me, on the other side, am rather short by birth so I’m only reaching my soldiers’ upper arms. Which still makes me taller than a dwarf. Even Thorin, the tallest of his kin, barely reaches my eye-level.   
“So what’s the plan again?” asks Kili as he eyes the giant ice figures with caution.  
“They’ll lead you through the forest and protect you when the Orcs come. You just need to watch where you are going, nothing more – they’ll tag along until they’re ordered otherwise.”  
“And you?” Thorin narrows his eyes at me.  
“I, Thorin, will be right behind you. Worry not, I won’t let you be chased by Wargs without doing something about it. I’ll just wait for one more… assistant.”  
“We should probably leave then. Use the advantage while we still have it.” the sternness in his voice and the clenched fists give away Thorin’s worry and I can’t help but admit that maybe my first impression of him was wrong – he seems to care big deal about everyone in this group.   
“Just a second.” Bilbo chips and as the others walk forward, he comes to me.  
“What is it, Master Baggings?” I ask in a mild tone.  
“What changed your mind? You said you’d offer us food, nothing more. So, why risk your life now?” His concentrated expression, furrowed brows and the nervous tapping of his foot indicate his inner battle.  
“Because, despite my pessimism, I know that Gandalf is right. The prophecy will come true and the dwarves will reclaim their mountain. I was there when Smaug arrived and destroyed everything. Now I want to be there when he dies.” I admit and look the hobbit straight in the eyes.  
“Well… I guess that works as well.”   
I smile at him and rummage through my pockets until I find what I seek.  
“Here, take this.” and I hand him a small icicle in the form of a flute.   
“W-what’s this?” he shutters as his eyes grow big by the sheer sight of it.  
“It works like a battle horn. You can control the ice warriors when I’m not around and with it you can call for my help. Just use it and think of me and I’ll come.” I smile and push him towards the rest. “Now go, before they become impatient.”  
Bilbo nods and quickly hides the small flute in his front pocket.   
“Assemble!” by my command the warriors straighten up.  
“First row – step ahead.” they oblige immediately. “You’ll lead the group out of the forest, through the safe paths, and protect all of them at any cost. Then you head south and any alleged enemy is to be taken down and killed. I wish no Orc or Warg to lay even a finger on them. That’s an order. Now go!”   
In an instance they turn around and march ahead, forming a circle around the group. Soon all of them disappear into the forest under the rays of the sun. 

*`*`*

No more than five minutes later, which to me seemed like hours, there’s a rustling in the bushes and I turn around, only to see Fenrir finally arriving. ‘Took him long enough!’ I fume.  
“Where are those dwarves you spoke of?” he sniffs the air and looks around.  
“They went ahead with half my soldiers. We must follow them. The Wargs-”  
“Have already sensed them for sure.” he interrupts me.  
“Then we must go.” I near him and tilt my head. “No matter how unpleasant it may be for both of us, I must ride you and you mustn’t think twice before killing a Warg.”  
“I never would, Ice Witch.” he bares his sharp teeth at me and I frown.  
“And keep in mind that I’ll be on you back – try not to throw me off.” I warn as I near him even more.  
“Ah… will try.” his voice rumbles somewhere from within and my frown deepens.   
Yet he lies down so that I can straddle his back and quickly rises up, almost making me fall.   
“Grab tight.” he warns and I can feel all his muscles moving underneath me.   
“Get ready. We run after the group. Kill any Orc or Warg that comes in your way and protect the party.” I order the soldiers that stayed here.  
And just like that Fenrir dashes forward. I barely manage to keep myself on his back, as he runs with great speed, jumping over any obstacle without even slowing down. It takes me the whole trek out of the forest, with the warriors running effortlessly next to us, to finally manage to get used to the constant jolting.   
Good for which, ‘cus by the time we near the company the Orcs and Wargs are everywhere. I spot Radagast the Brown on his Rhosgobel Rabbits-pulled sled riding off some of the enemy. In the distance Gandalf’s pointy hat is moving ahead and a few feet behind him one of my soldiers fights off a Warg.   
“Well this will be interesting…” I mutter and the wolf underneath me rumbles something that can be taken as a sign of approval.  
“Soldiers, attack!” that is the only command they need before scattering and killing any enemy that comes their way.   
“Hold tight, Isis.” that’s the only warning I get before Fenrir dashes forward with a fierce howl.   
With one hand tightly fisted in his fur, I use the other to slay Orcs as we go. My sword, despite its heavy-looking build, is quite light and easy to fight with. So I duck and slash in almost equal intervals all the meanwhile keeping an eye for Gandalf’s pointy hat – the only thing I manage to see.  
Soon Fenrir and I reach the running dwarves that are now almost cornered by five Orcs and their Wargs.  
“Play around to your heart’s delight.” I bend down and whisper in Fenrir’s ear before jumping off his back.   
The Great Dire wolf launches itself at an Orc and pushes it to the ground. I waste no time and quickly use my sword to slay its Warg. Yet the other Orc that jumps from behind it, I didn’t see in time. Barely managing to throw myself to the ground, I miss its sword by little. The hideous creature turns to me, preparing for a jump, when an arrow pierces its skull. When the bulk of meat tumbles down, I see that Kili came to my rescue. With a nod I jump on my feet, grab my sword and rush into battle.   
“Gandalf!” I yell, after slaying quite the pesky Orc, successfully attracting his attention.  
“Ahead and right! The pointy rock!!” I shout and duck, as a jagged sword flies towards my head.  
“Follow me!” Gandalf’s voice bellows and he rushes off, the dwarves hot on his heels.  
I quickly make a decision to follow them. As we run ahead, I spot Radagast still being chased by a few Wargs and Orcs, who are either too dump to understand what he’s doing, or just love rabbit meat. Either way I keep on running at the end of the group, fighting off any Orc that comes close.   
“Here! Fast!” finally Gandalf finds the slit in the ground, the tunnel that will lead them to Rivendell.  
I stand my ground against one pretty big Orc who seems to have a fetish for strangely looking maces. He tries to blow my head away, yet I keep ducking and slicing his legs with my sword. Finally I spot an opening and slice his head off.   
“Quick! Isis!” I hear Gandalf’s hushed voice and I run to his side.  
Thorin in still next to him, helping Dwalin down. He looks at me and for a second and in his blue eyes I see gratitude and appreciation for what I have done.  
“Go. I’ll keep them occupied!” I urge them as another Orc comes at us. This time I’m quick to slice at his flesh and kick him away.  
In the distance I spot a white furry figure running my way alongside four of my soldiers and another three coming from another direction.   
“What do you mean? We are not leaving you here!” Thorin’s emotions are quick to change and I can’t help but chuckle.  
“Don’t worry, Thorin, we’ll meet again. But for now our paths part here. Good luck!” and with that I run off, followed by two ice warriors on both my sides.   
Fenrir intercepts me with a few wide jumps and I hop on his back in the second he stops to turn around. Without a word said, we run off, chasing away some of the Orcs.  
“We have company.” the wolf growls and I turn around, just in time to see Gandalf disappearing into the crevice and elf-horsemen appearing behind the hill.   
Their arrows cut through the air and pierce the enemy. For now we are too far away for them to hit us, but I don’t want to risk it, so I bend down and let Fenrir run.

*`*`*

It’s more than an hour later when we finally stop near a river. Fenrir lies on his stomach, an indication for me to get off of his back, which proves to be more difficult than expected. After the long journey my legs are stiff and I can feel that my crotch area has gone numb. Nevertheless I move away from the fierce wolf and wobble towards the water with the clear intention to regain some of my mobility.   
After walking around for a little bit and splashing some water on my face, I proceed to clean my sword and some on the blood blotches I have on my thigh-high boots. The wind blows warm and welcoming, bringing along the characteristic odour for these parts of the world where it is still summer.  
I admire the weather for a few more moments, before finally looking back at Fenrir. He’s lying under a nearby tree, hiding in its shade, and his watchful green eyes don’t miss even the slightest movement.   
“Why haven’t you run off by now, Fenrir?” I ask in a mild tone, out of boredom rather than insolence.  
He growls lightly and lifts his giant muzzle, sniffing the air, before lying down again and hooding his eyes.   
“The forest is no longer a place to stay. There’s little point going there now, when you and your ice figures aren’t around to chaise the spiders away.” his deep, raspy voice rumbles.  
“Aye, yet you can go wherever you want.” I press some more, all the meanwhile keeping an eye for any unexpected movements.  
“You and I both know why, Witch. The wind is blowing battle and death our way – I see fit to not get in its way.”  
“So you can sense it too? The black magic that reeks from Dol Guldur? ” I’m not that amazed by this revelation as the wolf has lived long enough to know when danger looms close-by.  
“Indeed. The darkness has once again spawned in that cursed place.”  
I only nod in agreement, having little to no memory about the battle that was led there against Sauron.   
“And you? Where to?” his unexpected chattiness almost makes me drop my staff.  
“Since when did you become so friendly?” I raise an eyebrow his way and smile.  
The Dire wolf gives a sound that resembles a huff, but comes out more like a choked groan.  
“Anyway. I’m following the dwarves. If I’m not mistaken they’re headed for the Misty Mountains. I may come across them if I leave soon.”  
This time Fenrir directly laughs in my face, his huge mouth wide open, showing off a set of sharp, long canines.   
“What’s so funny?” I ask, trying to sustain the hiss in my voice.  
“You, Ice Witch. The dwarves are going to try and reclaim that gold mine, Erebor, and that’s their stupidity to deal with. But you? What doings do you have so far south? There are no allies of yours there. ” his narrowed eyes manage to unnerve me and I fidget with one of my daggers, spinning it around in my hands.  
“I want that drake death. The dwarves and their gold, as you so kindly put it, are their dealings.”  
This time the horrifying sound that comes from the beast’s mouth makes the hairs on my neck stand up and all my muscles tense. It’s a mortifying mixture of a howl and a demonic sneer.  
“Smaug is not that easy to take down and you know that first hand, Witch.“  
“Nevertheless, I’m tired of hiding. You said it yourself – there’s something evil that is brooding in the north. Action must be taken. One way or another, the war is inevitable. This time I’ll just pick my side sooner.”  
“It seems like the losing one.” the mock and laughter in the wolf’s eyes ignites that icy heat deep in me.  
As a result the temperature around us drops drastically and the once nice and warm breeze is now ice cold blizzard. The wolf’s fur immediately stands up and his ears lay low on his head before he barks at me to stop acting like a child.  
“It’s your choice whether to fight or hide away and wait for the storm to pass, Fenrir. Either way I’m heading south.”   
With that said I stand up and after stretching my still sore muscles, I grab my bag, throw it over one shoulder and pick up my staff. With my hood on, I probably resemble a miniature version of Gandalf, but the wolf is smart enough not to make any remarks.   
For a first time my violet eyes stop on his green ones for more than a second. I hold his gaze, but there’s nothing to be read or seen there – as if Fenrir is apathetic towards what’s to come. ‘It’s his choice to make.’ I tell myself and bow my head in a farewell.   
“We move south. The three of you – go scout ahead. The rest – shrink.” before I even manage to finish the order the three soldiers I nodded at are off and the rest have shrunk to the size of small ice dolls. I pick them up and hide them in my pocket, for safe keeping.  
Only a few steps ahead I feel a strange gust of wind and turn around, only to nearly jump out of my skin by the sight of Fenrir’s snout barely a hand’s reach away.  
“Goddammit! Do you want to scare me to death?!” I hiss as I place a hand over my rapidly beating heart.  
“Nay. Not for now, at least. It’s unwise to travel through these lands on foot and alone.”  
“I have my warriors with me.” I try to counter, but the gruff mocking exclamation that comes from the wolf makes me roll my eyes.  
“With this pace you’ll miss the whole battle, let alone that snake’s death.” he continues and steals a glance at me.  
“What are you implying? I have no time, nor nerve for your riddles, wolf.”  
“Let’s say I’ll show you the way to Carrock from where you can be re-joined with your merry friends.”  
I raise my eyebrow at him and stop walking. The Great Dire wolf never, under any conditions, offers his help voluntary. Crossing my hands over my chest and tilting my head, I look him up and down.  
“What’s your win in all of this?”  
“Why should I have such?” he has now stopped as well, his head turned back at me.  
“Because, Fenrir, you are no stupid beast. You aren’t helping me out of the goodness of your old and shrived heard either. So spit it out. What’s in it for you?”  
He just stands there and studies me, and for a second I feel like he’s about to jump. Yet, there’s not a single movement from his large body, apart from the dilating of his pupils.  
“Let’s say there’s something in that mountain that I want to have.”  
I cock my head to the side, a bewildered expression on my face.  
“I never knew your kind had any value for gold and diamonds?!”  
“We don’t! Yet, there is a special emerald in that treasury that I want to obtain.” his narrowed eyes warn me to stop the interrogation so I simply nod.  
“Fine. If a single emerald is the prise for your help, then I’m sure I can convince Thorin to give it to you as a reward for your service.”  
The only reply I get is a grunt before he turns around and continues walking.   
For an hour or so we keep up the normal pace, until my scouts return and report that there’s nothing to worry about ahead. Having heard that I command them to shrink, and hide them in my pocket with the rest before jumping on Fenrir’s back. The wolf, obviously enjoying my squeals and small shouts dashes forward, paying no attention to my protest to at least slow down.


	3. Run

The sky’s usual blue colour is slowly melting away into a mixture of orange, pink and red. As the sun sets, hiding more and more behind the mountains in the west, the warmth disappears as well. For me, as an Ice Witch, it’s not much of a problem since I was born and bred in ice; Fenrir, with his thick white fur is not affected by the dropping temperatures as well, as he even barely seems to notice. So as we walk through a meadow, I can’t help but wonder what makes me so anxious, as if thousands of ants are marching under my skin.   
“We should rest here.” Fenrir’s growling voice pulls me away from my thoughts.  
“Aye.” the reply is rather distant, as my mind is still far away in unknown lands.  
Since the Dire wolf doesn’t need accommodations such as warmth and nicely cooked food, I take it upon myself to gather wood and kindle a fire while he checks the perimeter, making sure nothing is lurking in the tall grass.   
A sudden chirping sound startles me and I look around, yet see no bird fluttering away, nor something else that may have produced that sound. Frowning, I pull my staff off of my back and still kneeling next to the fire, tap its tip gently against the ground. A fast wave of snowflakes spreads in a wide circle, that way allowing me to know if there’s something nearby. When the snow wave doesn’t return from any direction that means it hasn’t collided with anything worth my attention.   
As I’m about to stand up and look around for Fenrir, I hear the rustling of the tall grass, as it gently sways under the night’s chilly breeze. The tall vegetation is gently lulled from side to side as if a magical hand is brushing over it.   
“What are you looking at?” for a first time Fenrir’s sudden appearance doesn’t get me crawling out of my skin, as his voice is hushed to almost a whispers, as much as that’s possible for him at least.  
“I heard a strange chirping … but there’s nothing miles away. Maybe it was the wind.” I whisper and look at the wolf.  
He seems rather tense – his fur is not slicked back as usual, his whiskers are twitching nervously and his ears are pricked. Frowning at his alarmed state I once again look around, trying to sense something. Again to no vain.   
“Did you see something?” I ask after finally sitting near the fire and warming my ice-cold hands.  
“Nay. Not even a mouse.” he sits near me, yet his tensed body signalizes that he’ll be ready to jump at any moment.   
That’s when the meaning of his words actually reaches me. ‘Not even a mouse… Nothing alive… where is everybody??’ I wonder and look at the sky. The welkin is coloured in a deep and intense black, with the occasional small fluffy cloud. Yet not even a single star is present today. Just the moon, a big bright sickle that baths us in its ghostly white shimmer.   
“Could the dark magic have laid its roots even here? So fast?” I whisper as my eyes stay focused on the beautiful moon.  
“I doubt it. We are too far away from its nest. The creatures were either chased away or killed by something else.”   
With a slight nod the conversation dies out and I eat in silence for a while, before resuming my previous task to warm up my hands.  
“How so does the Ice Witch feel cold?” his deep voice purrs in a comic disbelief, making me chuckle.  
“Contrary to common belief I do feel coldness, but just not like others. It’s more that I sense the temperature has dropped, but it doesn’t bother me like it does with any other living creature.” I explain in a soft voice, already feeling tired.  
“Then why are you warming your hands?”  
“Because they’re icy. It seems that they and my feet don’t have good enough blood circulation and are constantly cold. And it doesn’t bother me – I’m used to it; it’s just that people freak out when I touch them with such cold hands. It’s an old habit, I guess. ” I sheepishly smile at the last part, remembering how as a child I used to spend hours in front of a burning fire in order to get some blood and colour in my hands.  
“Habits are hard to break.” Fenrir concludes with a wise voice and rests his head on his paws. “I’ll take the first watch. Rest.”   
I look at him and wonder if one of the Dire wolf’s secret abilities is to read the minds of the poor fellas that are too close; soon I brush this nonsense away and rest both my staff and then my sword on the ground next to me before lying down and staring at the welkin.  
“You never told me what happened…” I murmur as soon as my lids start closing.  
“With what?”  
“With your kin. Where did they go?” my thoughts get sluggish and I find it hard to follow them.  
“What happens with all great and powerful creatures – they eventually disappeared.” by the gruffness and edginess in his growling timbre I realise he doesn’t wish to speak of this, and somehow I understand him.

*`*`*

Tonight I dream of a mountain filled with tons of glistering jewels and gold; piles and piles of coins, necklaces, chests, chalices and all other kinds of valuable things. It all turns into a horrifying scenery when suddenly all those piles start moving and crumbling; the gold takes different shapes and soon something emerges from underneath it. It’s a red patch of skin, no, scales, yet I’m too far away to see clearly. As the coins keep on falling and hitting the stone ground with a jingly noise, I feel dread filling me from the inside out. Staring at the exposed patch now, I know what I’m seeing. A scream is stuck in my throat, suffocating me. As I come even closer, my heart beats gets faster, banging painfully against my ribcage. As the realisation sinks it the skin moves and suddenly what turns out to be an eyelid lifts, revealing an eye with a vertical iris. The eye of Smaug. 

I wake up from a scream. Which, for all I know, might have been my own. Looking around frantically I notice the tensed posture of Fenrir, who’s cautiously following each and every twitch of my body with a mixture of hostility and fear.   
“Get those away, Isis.” he growls at me.  
Furrowing my eyebrows in confusion as I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, I shake my head. That’s when I look over my shoulder and notice the huge icicles that are hovering next and above me, their sharp and polished ends pointing at the wolf, ready to pierce him if I as much as wish so. ‘Great Mother….’  
With a flick of my wrist the huge dagger-icicles disappear into thin air and I breathe a sigh of relief.   
“What happened?” the distress in Fenrir’s voice makes me look at him, a dark expression on my face.  
“It has been awakened. Smaug is awake, Fenrir.” there is deep and uncharacteristic graveness in my voice.  
“Ah. So the beginning of the end has come.” with that he sits back down, as if nothing has happened and rests.

*`*`*

We keep on moving further south with each passing day and I keep being hunted by strange dreams. Sometimes it’s the dwarves’ treasury and all that shining gold, under which hides that monster. Sometimes it’s Gandalf and the dwarves going through a misadventure. Once I even dreamt Dol Guldur and what may be lurking in there. But most of all I dream of Thorin Oakenshield. His eyes, hard, yet filled with passion, so often sad and so rarely brightened by happiness; and his voice - that baritone which makes shivers run down my spine, the fire with which he speaks to his people, his deep, warm laugher that I only managed to hear once, and briefly. And while at night his image invades my dreams, during the day I can’t stop wondering why. Why am I even dreaming of him? Sure, the look he gave me after I managed to pretty much save them had my knees buckling just a little, but still? And he’s pretty good looking, true. With that long jet black hair of his, with a few silver strings in it, and the braids, and the way he walks and acts. He may be a dwarf, and I know first-hand just how pig-headed they can be, yet still there’s something in him that dedication to his cause; it seems that he doesn’t even believe in failure, for him that’s not an option. And I can’t help but admire him for that.

*`*`*

With each passing day Fenrir carries us further south and away from any home we ever knew; soon I can’t help but realise that if we don’t intercept the dwarves at Carrock, there may be no other chance for our paths to cross and for me to help them.   
There aren’t many obstacles in our way – some Orcs patrolling, a few not so friendly foresters and even a bunch of angry goblins we eventually had to kill. Despite the lack of any evident enemies, the more we near the mountain, the more worried and anxious I get; the knowledge that the beast has woken up has me on the edge of my sit constantly. It comes to that Fenrir has to tell me to get a grip over myself in order for me to stop looking over my shoulder or up in the sky every three seconds.   
“If you keep acting like a scared goat I’ll kill you before that drake!” he grows at me one night.  
“I can’t help it! It’s all those dreams!! They are driving me insane!” I throw my hands up in the air in defeat. “I hadn’t slept peacefully since we left our lands.”  
Pacing in front of the fire, I think of a way to chase away whatever’s plaguing my mind. ‘This needs to stop! I’ll go insane by the time we reach the mountain! And of what help will I be, if I turn into a shaking wreck by the sheer sight of the beast?!?’ my pep talk this time, finally!, manages to get my chaotic thoughts in a straight line. And when there’s nothing to spoil my concentration, the solution to this pestering problem pops out on its own.  
“The flute…” I mumble.  
One thing I forgot to tell Bilbo about the ice flute I gave him is that it tends to create a connection between the bearer and the owner; in our case between him and me. Which explains all those strange visions of the dwarves running away from a battle between stone giants, only to end up in the lair of angry goblins. ‘Didn’t think of that option...’ I scold myself mentally and sit down, finally feeling somewhat relieved by the fact that I’m not going mad by my own fears, but from Bilbo’s.   
“Isis!” the wolf barks, making me snap my head in his direction.  
“Hm?”  
“What flute?!” his irritated growl and narrowed eyes make me gulp rather nervously.   
“I gave the Hobbit the Ice flute. It seems I have forgotten about the bad side effect it tends to have.” I explain as I stretch my hands up.  
“You gave him the Ice flute?! For what purpose?!”  
“To call me if they need help… which seems to have been the issue these days – he just hasn’t used it, yet the flute delivers me what’s happening in the form of a dream… or a nightmare.” I frown and look at the popping fire.  
“Does this mean that through it you can find out their current location?”  
I nod and look at Fenrir. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking since his face is practically unreadable; most of the time he looks irritated, angry and moody; yet now he seems as if he’s thinking something.  
“A coin for your thoughts?”  
He just looks at me and gives me what I’m guessing is a smile before standing up and stretching his athletic body.  
“My thoughts are worth a lot more than a single coin, Ice Witch. Either way – use that connection to find their current position as you sleep; it’ll give us the advantage needed to catch up with them.”  
With that said he walks away, taking his strategic place in the bushes since the whole night’s watch has been his ever since those dreams appeared.   
Even after his white fur is no longer visible, I keep on staring at where he disappeared at. The nights are getting colder as we are going further south and away from the otherwise warm regions. Hastily pulling my cloak closer to my body, I look at the sky – the moon is almost full now, yet there are still no stars, and the white pearl seems rather lonely in the vast inky welkin. Involuntarily my thoughts drift away to my house, probably already in ruin thanks to the spiders, and the massive destruction that must have befallen the forest and its residents. The sorrow that clenches my heart is fleeting as I know that if my dream-prediction is true and Smaug is awake, then a far greater abomination is to befall all living creatures. ‘There’s no time to fool around – I’m no damsel in distress. It’s time I step on the ground and take matters into my own hands. Fenrir said it – here I have no allies. I must be ready to defend myself and the company.’ With this new aspiration for success I get my staff and hold it before me. The flames light it up nicely, giving it a mystical appeal. Its form is rather unusual, compared to the staffs of the other wizards which are tend to be long and with little to no texture. Apart from being created from the root of the Sacred Tree, as all magic items are, mine is covered in a thick layer of ice, as if the wood had been immersed into cold water and left to freeze, later to be pulled out and lightly polished so that I wouldn’t cut my hand. Also from the bottom, reaching almost the top there are two intertwined lianas, as if wrapped around the ice to keep it in place. The top looks like two huge opposite scorpion stings that intersect in the middle and curl slightly up; this part is bared from any ice, revealing the texture of the wood itself, with only a few small scales of frost here and there. I marvel at this masterpiece, as every single detail was in fact created by Mother Nature at my birth. Now, as I examine for a God knows which time the fine creation and its beauty, I feel pride swirling in me by the sheer sight of it.  
“Let’s make some magic.” I whisper and lay the staff in my lap.  
With closed eyelids, I give myself a few seconds to clear my mind of any thoughts before I start chanting a spell as old as time. Soon my whole being is concentrated in the words that wash over me, the magic oozing from each syllable. It’s minutes later that I start feeling dizzy and tired, my head is spinning and unknowingly I fall down, the magical words taking my breath away.

*`*`*

The next morning I wake up and look around, still dizzy from the spell. A few feet away I see Fenrir munching of a big bone, whose origin, I realise, I don’t want to know. Seating up, I take a few gulps of water from my flask and let the rays of the sun warm up my face. The day will be a good one, as there’s not a single cloud in the sky and the wind is warm and gentle.   
“The spell worked.” I finally say after getting up and packing away my stuff. “They are really close – if we leave now, we’ll be able to reach them around nightfall.”   
“Good. And where exactly are we supposed to ‘reach’ them?” his sceptic view of things never ceases to amaze me.  
“Somewhere in Beorn’s territory.”   
“You must be kidding…” he whines and stands up, stretching his stiff body. “That skin-changer will rip them apart before they know it.”  
“You are forgetting one really important aspect, Fenrir.”   
“And what’s that?”   
I throw my bag across one shoulder, secure my staff and sword on my back and look at the Dire wolf over my shoulder.  
“Gandalf the Grey is leading them.”  
The wolf just grunts and follows me to the river, where I wash my face and quickly eat up some of my supplies. Then, after we’re ready and on the right track, I get on his back and he runs off, successfully making me bounce up and down. 

*`*`*

Lunch came and went and we are still on the move, without any intention of stopping any time soon. By the time the sun finally starts lurching westwards we cross the borders of Beorn’s territory. Despite the fact that I’m aching in various places and my back hurts really badly, an offer for a quick break doesn’t come from either of us. As the wolf slows his pace a little, examining closer our surrounding, I use the opportunity to pull out one of my ice soldiers and wake him up.   
“Follow the pull of the flute and show us the way.” I command.   
The warrior stays rooted to his place for a second before turning to his right and running off. Without a second thought Fenrir follows him, successfully managing to jump over rivulets and randomly appearing pits along the way. Still, with a guide and in a hurry, I know we won’t make it in time before sunset. And after that it may get pretty nasty. Since Beorn is a skin-changer, and one of the last of his kind none the less, when the sun sets he shifts into something that resembles a huge bear; usually it’s rather impossible to reason with him in that form, which leads to only one end of tonight’s anyway long journey – we’ll have to run for our lives.   
“Do you have a plan?” Fenrir’s voice is barely audible from the rustling of all the leaves.  
“Almost.” I try to outshout the noise, all the meanwhile thinking through the plan that’s taking slowly, but gradually, shape in my mind.  
“Elaborate.”  
That’s when an animalistic howl splits the night’s silent hum and the words get stuck in my throat, almost making me choke. Fenrir doesn’t stop to look or sniff, as we both know from the clear and loud sound that Beorn is somewhere close-by.   
In this very instance, as we pass by a few large rocks, I feel a thug in the back of my mind. It’s strange and alluring, as if someone is summoning me, calling out for me. Looking around, I try to pinpoint what exactly is happening. Thankfully it’s the Dire wolf that, unwittingly, sheds some light on this query of mine.  
“The dwarves are close. I can smell them.” his voice is a low rumble from underneath all that fur.  
‘The flute! Bilbo is using it!!’ my mind screams at Fenrir to go faster, and as I lean even closer to his body, I tell him about my plan. He gives a barely audible gruff, which I take for some sort of approval, before ducking just in time as we pass dangerously close to a low branch that would have send my head flying away, had I not noticed it in the last second.  
“We are close.” it’s the only warning I get before Fenrir literally climbs on a near rock and jumps in the air, saving us some time and allowing a better view up front.  
“There! I see them!” I shout as I manage to spot the whole group, led by Gandalf, running out of the forest.  
“And they’re not alone.” adds the wolf and his whole body gets tense the second he lands gracefully and lightly on the ground.  
True to his words, a few hundred meters to our right I can soon see a huge creature running with a speed that greatly exceeds the expectations for such a large mass. Needless to say, Beorn’s bear form can easily and surely plant fear in the heart of the fiercest warriors.

We manage to outrun him, and exit the forest a few precious seconds before him. As I pull the figures out of my pocket and whisper the awakening spell, I wonder if this is even going to work – if not, we are all as good as dead. The roar that comes dangerously close from behind, though, gives me no time to second-guess my plan.  
“Go! Carry them!” I shout orders, not paying attention to the hot bear breath that I feel on the back of my neck.  
“You!” I shout at the warrior next to me, “Grab me and when we are close to the wall throw me towards the door!”  
Without further ado, the warrior grabs me by the waist and runs off. As we near the house, I see all the dwarves being swept off of their feet by my warriors and even Bilbo trying to fight off one of them before realising it’s not an enemy. The startled exclamations are mixed with those of terror, as some of them still seem to not realize what’s going on. Gulping and trying to prepare myself mentally for the huge stupidity I’m about to do, I almost skip to notice the graciousness with which Gandalf jumps on Fenrir’s back. ‘That man is unbelievable! I’d have tripped over my feet hundreds of times with that robe and he?? Fabulous, as usual.’  
Soon I know I’m flying, fast and up. Then I’m falling, again fast. Landing with a low thud and making a quick spin, just like I envisioned it, I run to the door, which opens on its own after a quick spell. I slip in and start pulling hard, as the wooden beams weigh a ton, and barely manage to move away as Fenrir dashes right past me, almost running me over. He is followed by the ice warriors carrying the dwarves and the loud booming, fast approaching steps of the bear. Almost immediately after pulling, I have to push. With my back against the door and my feet kicking as hard as possible I begin to close the door, but not fast enough. That’s when the dwarves come to help, each pushing with all they’ve got. Yet, even then, I know we won’t make it, as the bear in only a step away, and the door is ajar enough for its muzzle to sneak through. So I once again do something extremely stupid, and move under the arms of the dwarves, pushing my body forward, trying not to break their concentration or trip them. When I reach the now trying to break in bear, I quickly get my hands in a handful and blow a gust of air. The ice dust immediately appears out of nowhere and ends up all over its face. Startled and obviously not favouring the sudden coldness, the beast moves away enough for the boys to close the door with a bang and pull down the huge wooden bean.  
“What was that!?”exclaims the still panting Ori.  
“That, my friends, was our host.” informs Gandalf before eyeing me.  
“You made it!” it’s Bilbo this time who looks at me, as all the rest seem to have forgotten who swooped in and saved them.  
“I told you our paths would cross again. I didn’t predict being chased by a bear, but then again, who am I to argue?” I smirk and walk into the room.  
As the dwarves out-talk one another, as usual, and create a noisy cacophony, I look around the barn-looking room. There are a few cows, some chicken fluttering away, goats and other domestic animals, freely roaming around, and now looking at us with frightened expressions.  
“Don’t you even think of eating any of them!” I whisper and look up, where on a wide beam I spot Fenrir, casually lying, and not so casually eyeing the poor creatures.  
His green eyes shift to me and he gives me something that can pass for a frown, obviously not happy. Then his eyes move again to somewhere behind me, and his warning growl, to which I got used to during our trek, echoes in the suddenly deadly-silent room. ‘Great…’ I whine and turn around, already knowing what I’ll see.  
True to my prediction, everyone has now noticed the giant wolf and is currently staring at it with a mixture of bewilderment and fear.   
And then I spot Thorin, who’s aiming an arrow at him.  
“Good gracious, Thorin, get that fucking thing away from him!” I snap, hoping that we didn’t just run away from one wild beast, only to get locked in with another.  
“What’s that thing?” he demands, still taking neither his eyes, nor his weapon away.  
“He’s… an acquaintance of some sorts.”  
The gruff, throaty laughter that follows and the low thud inform me that the wolf has decided to grace us with his presence. Turning halfway to look at him, I notice the way he moves and stands, despite the long journey and the tiredness he may be feeling. For someone who ran over thousands of miles, Fenrir hasn’t lost even an ounce of the graciousness that’s so habitual for hunters like him – the type that sneaks up behind you and snaps you in half with a single powerful bite of its dagger-like fangs. His dazzling green eyes are narrowed slightly and there’s a witty, provoking flame in them, masked with a sheer layer of mockery that’s there just so to anger the dwarves.   
The silence gets tense as the wolf walks around, narrowing the circle, obviously playing with them.  
“For the love of the Valar, stop it!” I finally snap. “It’s been a long journey so far. We are all tired, hungry and in desperate need of sleep. Let’s leave the glaring contest for tomorrow morning.”  
“I agree with Isis. It will be wiser not to start a feud with the creature that just helped us, Thorin.”  
Yet the said dwarf seems to disagree since he stays just the way he did all this time – with his bow and arrow aimed at Fenrir, and ready to shoot. Not that it will have any effect on him, since his fur works like armour, but I decide to keep this piece of information to myself.  
“How do you expect us to sleep peacefully when this beast is lurking in the shadows?” growls Thorin, his irritation and anger, despite being justified by Fenrir’s nature, now are completely irrational.  
“You are pretty quick in putting labels, dwarf. That may come back to bite you.” Fenrir growls in warning before whisking his tail and moving away, obviously not entertained anymore.  
“Thank you, Master Fenrir.” thanks Gandalf, with a clear tone of immense gratitude that at least he understands the intensity of destruction a conflict right now can cause; after all, the last thing we need is a wolf who’d gladly tear apart everyone.  
“Do not thank me, Wizard. Thank the Ice Witch and her temper.” the wolf growls as he passes by me, giving me a look by which I know I’ll be paying an arm and a leg one day for all the small favours he’ll be doing.  
Without another word said he climbs back up and finds the widest beam on which he can lay without his feet sticking out. When finally up and away from any possible confrontation, I take a deep breath and exhale in a dramatic and genuinely tired sigh, before turning to the rest of the group. While most of them are still shaken up by what happened, Thorin is the only one whose wrath and discontent are currently aimed at me. Deciding to ignore his bad looks and gruff attitude, I offer everyone to make ourselves at home as much as possible and have some dinner before bed. 

After filling our stomachs with warm food after so many days of cold and hard bread, all of the dwarves prepare for bed, shooing away the animals in the further end of the huge stable and unrolling their sleeping bags. I, on the other hand, stay in the kitchen area and look out of the window. It’s been over ten minutes, in which I have been studying the surroundings, until someone clears their throat behind me. Looking over my shoulder I notice Gandalf is looking at me expectantly.  
“Anything bothering you?” he asks as he starts cleaning his pipe.  
“Apart from the horde of Orcs that’s probably lurking around? No, nothing.” I shrug and look at the sky.  
This time the moon is completely full and there are a few starts here and there, finally giving some more dimension to the otherwise stiff-looking welkin.  
“Things don’t seem good with that problem either. But that’s not the only thing what worries me.” I whisper as I finally turn around and give the wizard my whole attention.  
He just glances at me from under his heavy eyelids, indicating that he’s listening and urging me to keep on speaking, before continuing ramming the pipe.  
“It’s Smaug. I think he’s awake.”   
The graveness that passes the wizard’s old face would have scared everyone in the room, were they to see it.   
Gulping, I hug myself and look aside, knowing perfectly well what he’s about to tell me.  
“Keep this information to yourself. They do not need to know.”


	4. Fight me

I stay near the window for a few more seconds, enjoying the murmuring background noise that the dwarves make, and let my thoughts wander around. A sudden tug of my cloak snaps me out of my daze and I turn around only to see Bilbo smiling at me in a sheepish way.   
“With what can I be of service to you, Mater Bilbo?” I take a sit on the nearby bench, feeling tiredness and sleep taking over.   
“I… um… I wanted to give you this back.” he says, handing me back the Ice flute. “I kept it safe.”  
I give him a warm smile and shake my head, closing his hands around the magical instrument.  
“Keep it. You may need it.”  
“Are…. are you sure?” he seems amazed as his eyes widen, allowing the candle I kept close by to reflect nicely in them.  
“Aye. Now go to sleep, little Hobbit, as tomorrow is going to be a long day.”  
He smiles again and nods before leaving. Yet after a few steps he turns around, again that anxious look in his eyes.  
“You will be coming along tomorrow, right?”  
“Of course I will.” my lids are heavy and it’s hard for me to keep my brain working properly, let alone formulate sentences, yet I don’t whine.  
“Good. Really good. Well, rest well then.”   
With a final nod he turns around and goes to his sleeping bag.   
Soon everyone is comfortably situated in their bags, well covered and somewhat relaxed. As my eyes scan the room from my place on the bench, I can’t help but notice that we are one dwarf short. Rising from my spot I enter the other room and once again look around. I spot Thorin in the furthest end of the room, his hands crossed over his chest in a threating and stubborn manner, and his head looking up. Following his gaze, I see Fenrir casually lying on the beam, his massive head looking down at the dwarf. Hearing their hushed voices and mostly the rumbling growl of the Dire wolf, I wonder if I should interfere. Frowning I go down the few stairs, before successfully and silently tip-toeing past the sleeping forms of the dwarves, until I reach the place where I left my bag, which conveniently is only a few steps away from the still awake duo. Stealing a glance their way, I notice that they are aware of my presence, since the dwarf’s eyes are following my every move with that characteristic angry frown of his.   
The silence settles as I kneel on the ground and unfold my sleeping bag, my ears trying to grasp any sound that may indicate a forthcoming quarrel.   
“It’s improper to eavesdrop, Ice Witch.” the whisper, despite the growling timbre, doesn’t wake anyone.   
From my place I look up, my eyes briefly stopping on the stormy blue oceans of Thorin’s, before looking higher at the green emeralds, now narrowed into slits. The wolfish smile that tugs at the corners of Fenrir’s mouth makes me frown, as usually nothing good comes out of that.  
“I have little to no interest what so ever in your conversation, as long as it won’t result in a fight.” I state in a low voice, returning my attention back to the now completely unfolded bag.   
The rumbling laugh that comes from above makes me roll my eyes in irritation. Yet I don’t grace the wolf with any further attention, as I feel too sleepy to deal with him. So instead I remove my cloak and fold it nicely as a pillow. Then I unbuckle the belt around my chest that holds my staff and sword steady on my back, and leave it near me, alongside said attributes. Without any more words I slip under the warm furs and rest my head on my hand, that way turning my back to the two troublesome males. Soon sleep takes over and the darkness of a dreamless rest sucks me into its warm and awaited embrace.

*`*`*

A low feral growl accompanied by a gust of hot wind in the face wakes me up the next morning. Blinking my eyes open I rise up, only to come uncomfortably close to a nice set of sharp teeth. With a low squeak I jump back and put a hand on my now rapidly beating heart. Fenrir just gives me a grunt-like sound before nodding to something behind me. Turning around, I notice one pretty big figure near the fireplace. For a second the thought that we have been attacked and taken hostages crosses my mind, but then I recall where we are, and realise that the enormous body I’m currently starring at belongs to out host, Beorn. With a soundless yawn I rub my eyes and stand up, stretching my stiff muscles. Running a hand over my hair, making sure it’s still in a nice braid, and then tautening my shirt and the vest over it, I tip-toe around the still sleeping and snoring dwarves. Finally reaching the set of stairs I quickly climb them as soundlessly as possible and come to stand near the skin-changer.  
“It’s nice to see you again, Beorn. It’s been a long time.” I say in a quiet voice before stretching my hands towards the fire in attempt to warm them up.  
“Fair meeting, Isis.” he greets, his eyes trained on the flames.  
“I apologize for intruding in such a way in your home, but we were left pretty much with no other option.”  
“What brings you so far away from your lands?” he asks and steals a glance at me from under his huge eyelashes.  
“I offered Gandalf my help in his current enterprise.” my evasive answer seems to not please him as his eyebrows furrow and he grunts.  
“And what enterprise do a wizards and a witch have with a bunch of dwarves?” his displeased tone reminds me that, despite his rather disinterested attitude towards what’s happening out of his lands, Beorn is known for his dislike towards the Durin’s folk.  
“We are on a quest to reclaim something stolen.” I answer, trying not to give anything away, since Gandalf never told me how much to tell anyway.  
“So it’s true? The dwarves are on a quest to reclaim Erebor and slay the dragon?” he mumbles under his breath, yet I hear him.  
“How do you know that?”  
The skin-changer smiles and moves away, taking a seat on the bench, which creaks under his weight. Now we are finally somewhere close to eye-level and I no longer need to crane my neck up in order to see his face.   
“Word travels fast and far. Especially when it is a suicide mission like this one.”  
“You believe we won’t manage?” the angry edge of my tone doesn’t skip my own ears, yet alone Beorn’s and he looks at me with his huge eyes.  
“Yes. The dwarves are greedy and pig-headed. Do you really believe you can do anything against that beast?”   
My hands ball into fists and I grid my teeth at his remark.   
“The prophecy will be fulfilled one way or another, and you know it. The birds are returning to the Misty Mountain – that’s the sign.”   
Only after the words leave my mouth do I realise that, indeed, I believe in what I’m saying. Furthermore, I’m defending the dwarves and their right to reclaim their home; something I’d usually never do unless I truly thought there’s even the slightest chance they may succeed.   
“That’s not an answer to my question, and you know it.” he points out, making me look away for a second.  
The pop of the burning wood is the only sound that disturbs the quietness for nearly a whole minute before I nod.  
“Yes, I believe the beast can and will be killed.” my words are confident and stern.   
“So you have gone mad as well.” he whispers in what can be believed to be acquiescence.   
“So it seems, yes.” I smile and look out of the window.  
The sky is getting a lighter shade of blue with each passing second and soon hues of pink, orange and yellow start appearing at the horizon.   
“Dawn is upon us.” Beorn whispers and I sense a hint of tiredness in his voice.   
“Yes. Is there still someone out there waiting for us to get out?” I ask directly while inspecting the forest that surrounds the house.  
“The Orcs and their Wargs are still close by, waiting. I chased them as far away as possible but they will return soon.”  
“Thank you.” I suddenly say and look at the skin-changer, who gives me a questioning look.  
“For keeping us save tonight. We needed the rest.”   
The giant man just nods his head and proceeds to look at the flames for a few minutes before standing up once again and walking towards the window. His tall figure looms dangerously high, almost reaching the ceiling, which results in him constantly ducking under the various beams.   
I stand up as well and walk back towards the sleeping company. First I stop by Gandalf and wake him up from a rather troublesome dream, for which he nods in gratitude before noticing Beorn’s giant figure and asking with a single glance if everything is still okay. I nod and proceed to walk, until I spot Thorin’s sleeping body. His head rests on an improvised pillow made of hay and his wavy hair is sprawled around him like a halo. The few silver strands have fallen across his face during his sleep and before I know it I’m kneeling next to him and extending my hand to push them away. Any rational thought slips from my mind the moment my fingers gently touch his forehead and push the hair back. For a first time his characteristic frown and dark demeanour are gone, and in front of my eyes a whole new image of the fierce warrior appears – the one of a man at ease, at least in his sleep, with no worry on his mind. A small smile tugs at corners of my lips and unknowingly I trace his hairline with my fingers. His low moan snaps me out of my trance and I almost fall back. Quickly moving my hand away and placing it on his shoulder, I lightly shake him.  
“Thorin. Thorin! Wake up!” I hush as I shake him, yet to no vain.  
Chucking at his deep sleep I keep on shaking him, this time with more passion. The only reply I get is a groan and a few mumbled words, none of which makes any sense. So deciding that I have had enough, I squeeze his shoulder a little bit rougher than needed and send a chilly wave through his body. The result is immediate. The dwarf jumps up and grabs my wrist with such force that I fear he may break it any moment.  
“Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Thorin! Let go!” I hiss and pull at my now throbbing wrist.  
He looks around, dread and animosity in his eyes, before finally stopping his gaze on me and realising who I am. His hold eases and I pull my hand away, massaging the now bruised flesh.  
“Jeez! You sleep like a log! I have been trying to wake you up for over a minute now!” I whisper while making sure there’s no fatal damage done to my wrist.  
“Well you shouldn’t have woken me up by throwing a bucket of ice over me.” he grumbles as he stands me, leaving me kneeling on the ground in his feet.  
Looking up from my position I narrow my eyes at him and sent him a nasty look before raising as well, now towering over him a little.  
“That’s a nice idea- I’ll use it the next time I have the unfortunate task of waking you up!” I hiss in his face before turning around and continuing to shake up the rest of the group.  
In a few minutes, groaning and whining about the early hour, everyone is finally up. By the sight of Beorn, though, they all go silent and cautious. Gandalf is the one who urges them to come closer and have some breakfast before we leave. I stay behind to prepare my luggage. I’m in the process of securing the leather strap over my chest when a low clatter of nails over wood catches my attention and I look to my right, only to see the Dire wolf studying the talking group on the table.  
“Are you really going to leave them in the dark?” his voice is, for a first time, barely audible.  
“What good will it be if I tell them the beast is already awake? It will only crash their spirit.” I reply after making sure my sword is nicely secured on my back, alongside the magical staff.   
“Your will.” he says reluctantly, before changing the subject. “How long do you plan on following them?”  
“Until I’m no longer needed, I suppose.” I say and stand up.  
The wolf growls at my lack of any interest in what seems to be troubling him, so turning around and providing my full attention, I raise an eyebrow his way.  
“What exactly gives you the heebie-jeebies?”  
He just looks at me with a strange look, in which I see sagacity, uncharacteristic for a wild animal. Yet again, Fenrir has never been merely a wild beast. There are rumours claiming that he possesses a vast knowledge, accumulated for centuries. ‘No, definitely not a stupid animal.’  
“I’m not asking you to come along, you know. I’d like you to be close-by, yes, but I’m not expecting you to show any interest in a future battle, from which many won’t return.” I give him a small smile before nodding towards the door.  
“You are free to go, if that’s what you wish.” I whisper with a rather sad voice.  
The wolf looks at where everyone is and then at me. His white tail waves slowly behind him, as if he’s mulling everything through.   
“Let’s go outside.” without waiting for my reply he turns around and leaves, leaving me no other choice but to follow him out of the door.  
The air that enters my lungs is nipping and cold, a reminder that the nights are no longer welcoming for those who choose to sleep outside. As we walk through the garden, still bathed in morning dew, I feel my heart clenching in my chest at what’s to come. The sun’s barely peeking over the horizon, casting its nice soft light everywhere and making Fenrir’s fur no longer appear white but rather pinkish. I can’t help but smile at how nicely this shade suit him. The wolf stops right at what can be considered the threshold and stares at the distance.  
“You did far more than I could have imagined, and I’m grateful for that.” I say, my voice suddenly coming out almost teary.  
“Don’t get all emotional on me, Ice Witch.” the wolf growls and turns his head to the side, so that he can see me.  
“I’m not. I’m just thankful. I’m sure they are as well.” I continue, paying no attention to his grumpiness.  
“I didn’t do it for them.” the low whisper is almost immediately swept away by the morning breeze, yet I manage to pick it up.  
“Then why? Why did you offer to take me all the way here?” a light frown graces my features at his remark.  
Yet the Dire wolf stays silent, his gaze following the line of the sun. In this very moment I can see some kind of sadness surrounding him, creating a dreadful demeanour. ‘As if he’s saying his goodbye with everyone. As if… he’s about to die…’ my mind takes a dangerous turn and I shake those thoughts away.  
“I must go.” he suddenly states and takes a step forward.  
“Wait!” I call after him and quickly melt away the distance between us. “Will I ever see you again?”  
“Who knows?” he whispers and his head gently pushes my hand.  
I look down and the sudden urge to caress his fur takes over me. Before I know it, my fingers are running though the soft fur on his head, stroking him gently.   
“I’ll miss you, despite your awful mood.” I whisper and give him a sad smile, before moving away.   
“Ah.” he groans.  
After a few more steps he suddenly runs ahead, quickly disappearing into the depths of the forest. I stay near the threshold until there’s no longer a patch of white showing off from between the trees. 

*`*`*

I re-enter the house only to almost run into a hurrying Bilbo. He stumbles back and I grab his shoulders, keeping him steady.  
“Easy there, mate.” I give him a small smile before he takes a few steps back, letting me enter. “What’s the rush?”  
“You.. you disappeared. I.. we… got worried that… you know…” he looks ashamed of what he just said and a nice blush appears on his cheeks.  
“That I’d leave? No way. The fun part is about to start!” I exclaim and push him back inside the house, closing the heavy door behind us.  
When we enter the room, all the eyes are on us, or on me, to be more precise.   
“Did I miss something important?” I ask out loud and tilt my head to the side.  
“No, my dear. But we must go, as the Orcs may return any moment.” Gandalf says and nods at my stuff that have been put on the table.  
Looking around I take notice that indeed everyone is ready to depart, with their backpacks on their backs and their swords and axes fastened around their waists. Rushing towards the table I quickly take my cloak and throw it over my shoulders then grab my bag and quickly clasp it around my body. After that I take a small griddle-cake from the table and take a bite of it. And everyone is still looking at me rather expectantly.  
“What?” I ask after swallowing.  
“Where’s the white beast?” grumbles Thorin with his eyes narrowed at me as usual.  
I mimic his facial expression and take another bite of my small snack. The obvious refusal to obey his orders makes him even angrier and I swear I can see a thunderstorm forming above his head. The twinkle in my eyes, pure mischief, makes him see red; the veins all over his face and neck start popping out and I barely manage not to choke on my laughter at the sight.   
“Now, now. No need for this, Isis.” Gandalf’s scold is aimed mostly to calming down the angry dwarf.  
Huffing I nod and swallow my bite.   
“Shall we go then?”  
The whole gang noisily leaves Beorn’s house and heads towards the door. There we are met by a herd of ponies and two horses.   
“They’ll lead you wherever you want to go.” Beorn says after finally ducking under the doorframe. 

Soon we are far off, the ponies and horses trotting forward. A few times I turn around to look if there’s someone following us, and each and every time I only glimpse at a huge blotch of dark brown in the distance. ‘Beorn is making sure we make it safely out of his territory.’ I think and smile with relief.   
The journey is mostly smooth apart from a few friendly quarrels between the dwarves. I ride at the very back and let my thoughts wander around.   
It’s hours later when Kili and Fili fall behind so that we can ride together. I smile at them and we maintain a small chat for most of the time. Yet I have the feeling that they want to know something, so finally, after I’m informed that Kili prefers the bow to the sword due to its many advantages, I ask:  
“What exactly did Thorin tell you to ask me?” I smile at their shocked expressions and my genuine laugh fills the silence when they blush. “Don’t sweat it boys.”  
“Well… we wanted to know what happened to… the wolf?” asks Kili, his chocolate eyes cautious.  
“Fenrir, Kili. His name was Fenrir.” adds Fili and rolls his eyes at his brother’s bluntness.   
“Yeah. Sorry.” the brunet dwarf scratches his head in discomfort and I can’t help but laugh at how cute he is.  
“He left. His debt was paid after he helped you at the forest. ” I say, and suddenly feel my light mood disappearing a little.  
“Wait! He was paying a debt? Does that mean you made him come?” asks Fili, obviously not catching what I want to say.  
“He owed me a favour. To escort me all the way to Carrock wasn’t a part of what we bargained for. So he had the right to leave whenever he wished.”   
“If you don’t mind me asking – why did he escort you all the way here? I mean, if he wasn’t obliged to do it, why did he bother?” it’s Kili who frowns this time.  
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s not as cold-hearted as I thought he was. He never answered me when I asked.”   
A comfortable silence settles as we continue to ride side by side. It’s around lunch time so the quietness doesn’t last long and soon everyone starts whining that they want to eat. Despite all the voices shouting over one another, Thorin doesn’t even say a word about rest, let alone a full-course meal on a meadow.   
“Is he always like this?” I ask his nephews.   
“Well… not quite. He wasn’t like this before – he was laughing more often and would never decline an offer for lunch. Now…” Fili stops there, not sure how to end that sentence.  
“Now he just has too much on his mind to even allow himself to relax for a second. As a leader he thinks it’s unacceptable to make bad decisions, so he never rushes into something that may endanger our lives.” adds Kili and looks at his uncle with worry.  
“Unless it concerns elves. Then he becomes rather irrational.” murmurs the blond and I smile at the little humour.  
Soon everyone joins in with different stories and events that are rather humorous and laugher is quick to echo around us. To my own amazement I’m laughing more often than I thought I would and the attention of the dwarves, who seem to enjoy a good listener with a sense of humour, only makes it stranger. Being the introvert I tend to be, it’s a miracle I’m having a good time with all this attention and various voices coming from everywhere.   
I’m in the middle of a good laughter after Bombur told one quite exhilarating story when an icy chill runs down my spine, making my laugher die out almost immediately. I raise my head high and look around, soon spotting in the distance one of the ice soldiers I send ahead.  
“Make way!” I quickly shout and the chatter dies out immediately.   
I spur my horse forward and rush towards my soldier. Only a few meters away do I notice he is limping and his hands are waving frantically. The moment I reach him and touch his shoulder I know I had made a grave mistake to rush head-first so fast. In a second from behind the hill a group of Orcs and their Wargs appears and heads right towards me. The distance that separate us is not that great and I know there’s no way this horse can outrun a Warg, so I quickly pull the ice figures from my pocket and say the spell. The moment the last syllable leaves my lips my horse rises on his back hooves and sends me flying back. I manage to roll around as the heavy body falls to the ground seconds later, dangerously close to me, with a Warg still digging into its chest. The creature lifts its muzzle at me and growls, only to end up with an arrow in his skull. I have no time to look back at who saved me, and instead pull my sword and staff from their cases and take a fighting position.  
“Attack!” I order to my soldiers before ducking, as a sword cuts the air right where my head was moments ago.  
My staff flies forward and touches the Orc, turning him into a huge block of ice immediately.   
“Dammit!” I curse and raise my sword, stopping another one from decapitating me.   
Despite my best attempts it’s near impossible to protect myself as more and more Orcs appear, surrounding me. I can hear someone shouting orders, the battle yells of the dwarves and even Gandalf shouting words, but the Orcs’ hideous faces and voices are all around me, cutting any way out. Before I know it, there’s no way to run to. Most of my ice soldiers are held up by Orcs on Wargs and can’t make it to my side in time. Gripping my sword harder and spinning the staff in my other hand I know there’s no easy way out of the mess this time. In the seconds of lull between their attack, I hear Thorin yelling my name. I take a deep breath and the Orcs attack. The next moments are a blur of spins, ducks, slaying, impaling, freezing and missing something sharp by sheer luck. Unfortunately, I also miss to notice that my surrounding is now rather rocky, and before I can even think of a way around this, I trip and literally roll all the way down to where the dwarves are fighting.   
“Shit…” I groan as I try to raise, only to be grabbed by the hair and pulled up.  
A face, reeking of carrion and death ends up too close to mine for comfort, but so does the sharp knife, pressed against my throat.  
“Drop your weapons, dwarves, or the female dies!” the disgusting creature yells, almost throwing spin on my face.  
The effect is immediate – the circle that the dwarves have created in order to protect each other’s backs has now frozen on the spot with raised weapons and most of the eyes are looking at me. I try to shake my head, to tell them not to do what he says, but the pain in my head indicates that not only have I received a nice blow while I was rolling down like a sack of potatoes, but also that the blade is at the verge of breaking my skin, making any movement painful.   
“Don’t even think about it!” I hiss either way, which wins we a painful hit.  
“Shut up, meat sack!” the Orc hisses in my face, allowing me to have a whiff of his awful breath.  
The nausea that appears by that reek soon passes away as I notice Thorin, who happens to be right in front of me, and his conflicted expression. ‘Oh my… he’s thinking it through!!!’ my mind shouts for me to say or do something, yet the pain in my skull has me tripping on the edge of consciousness.   
The dwarf’s worried and angry expression is what sobers me up enough to get my mind working. Looking around, I notice my staff near Thorin’s foot. My eyes widen ever so slightly before I look at him. With my eyes I try to show him what is near his feet and while for a second he seems rather confused he finally steals a glance down and notices my staff. Looking back at me I twitch my right wrist, the one he almost broke this same morning, in indication to where I want him to throw it. It takes him a second more before he lowers his weapon and raises his hands in defeat.  
“We surrender. Let her go.” his voice is rather calm, but by the way he gulps I know it’s all just a façade.   
“Put your weapons on the ground!” commands another Orc as he takes a few courageous steps closer.   
Thorin looks at me once more and I blink at him as an encouragement. My right hand is ready to grab the staff, while the left one will hit the Orc. All the dwarves, alongside Gandalf and my warriors, lower their weapons and put them on the ground. And here I must admit that Thorin plays his role as a pro – even his emotion is of someone who is surrendering against his will. And while the Orcs feast over their victory they skip to notice the sudden movement of the dwarf’s hand and the flying object. The moment they realise what he did, it’s too late. With my left elbow ending in the Orc’s stomach, I roll away and the spell that slips past my lips turns the ground into an ice rink. And as the enemy tumbles over and falls, unable to stand up, my ice soldiers use the chance and kill them one by one. Those who are nearer we take care of personally. The daggers I always keep in my boots are out in an eye blink and I slice a few throats open.   
A few minutes later there are no more Orcs or Wargs alive. I’m sitting on the ground, with one hand on my head and the other one checking if there’s a cut on my throat. The first to reach me is Bilbo, who dashed so fast that I didn’t really realise when he had come until he starts hassling around me, looking at the wound on my head and giving suggestions of what should be done. I don’t hear a word, though, as a fierce headache takes over and I bend in half, hoping it will subside.   
“Isis! Isis open your eyes!” it’s Gandalf’s voice that snaps me out of my trance and I try to do as he asks.  
Yet even the slightest movement results into pain shooting through my body and I give a weak moan before curling into a ball once again. For a first time in a while I resent the fact that my magic doesn’t involve healing, even for myself. So instead Gandalf starts to chant and his soft white magic engulfs me, making the pain go away and the wounds to heal as much as possible. Unfortunately such spells always end the same way. The world drowns in darkness faster than Bombur can devour a whole bread.


	5. Meet the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to share your thoughts about the story up to this point! ^_^

The cold wind flogs at the trees, making them howl in pain, as if alive, and snapping whole branches that fall to the ground with a loud crashing sound. Frost and snowflakes twirl around, forming strange shapes and sticking to whatever surface they hit.  
My eyes blink open to the sound of the swingeing wind and the coldness of the night’s air that slips between the cracks of my clothes and licks my skin. It takes a few seconds to clear my thoughts and push the dull pain away before my sight finally manages to focus on the welkin above. The sky tonight is a black void from which snow pours is large, heavy clumps that the airflows swipe away and toss in various directions. I frown and try to stand up yet the fierce pain that splits my head makes me rethink my next move more cautiously.  
“You must lie down for now, Isis. The wound on your head is still rather sensitive.” it’s the calm tone of Bilbo’s voice that makes me give it a second shot and open my eyes, looking up at him.  
He is covered by a thin looking cloak, which barely manages to save him from the sudden weather changes. The tip of his nose is red as well as his cheeks and there are tears in the corner of his eyes, which he tries to keep half-closed due to the endless blizzard that blows straight in his face. As I look around, I notice that the dwarves have created somewhat of a barrier between me and the wind with their bodies, as they are sitting in a semi-circle around me. Now, when they have noticed my regained consciousness, their eyes are on me, watching each and every move I make.  
“How long was I out?” my voice is rasp and I clear my throat, only for the dull pain to return.  
“Around five hours. Give or take.” It’s Kili, who is sitting near my head that answers the question while pulling the blanket closer to his body, barely concealing a shudder.  
“And the weather?”  
“Ever since you passed out it has been worsening.” Fili replies, mimicking his brother’s movements and covering himself better.  
My frown deepens and I rise on my elbows slowly and with the Hobbit’s help, completely ignoring the worried voices of the others that are telling me not to overdo myself so soon. As my eyes search the perimeter for a characteristic pointy hat, I can’t help but feel worry forming in the pits of my stomach by the lack of it.  
“Where’s Gandalf?” I somehow manage to out-shout the loud howling of the wind.  
“He left.” Thorin’s curt reply makes me look his way, the memory of him shouting my name during the battle still fresh and bugging me.  
“Did he say something?” I ask him after I manage to sit up, the blanket sliding down my body.  
Until now I hadn’t realised that someone had undressed me, since the warmth that had been engulfing me gave nothing away. Now, when my body is left to the mercy of the wind, a cold lick from my neck to the valley between my breasts makes me look down, only to find my vest gone and my shirt unbuttoned, obviously so that a compress of herbs could be laid on my chest. My eyes widen before I quickly grab the flapping ends of the shirt and close them over the exposed flesh, feeling rather self-conscious as a bunch of male dwarves are almost openly staring at my slightly exposed breasts. ‘Merlin’s beard and thousand snowflakes!!!’ I curse mentally and quickly button up the sheer fabric.  
“Where’s my staff?” I ask and look around once again, in hope of spotting it.  
“Here!” Bilbo chirps and pulls it from under the bags, obviously hidden from praying eyes.  
“Thank you.” I whisper when my right hand is finally clasped around the iced surface.  
Tapping it on ground two times and making sparks fly around, I whisper a spell and just like that the wind dies out and the coldness melts away, leaving a nice, still rather chilly yet not freezing night.  
“Wow.” it’s Fili’s whisper that’s first to break the silence, making me smirk.  
Grabbing my vest and quickly putting it back in its place, I let silence fall upon us.  
“What do you think you are doing?” it’s Bofur’s worried exclamation that snaps me out of my rather mechanical dressing and I look at him, rather confused.  
“What does it look like I’m doing? Dressing and about to stretch my legs.”  
With that I stand up and move away, making sure that I don’t step on anyone’s hand or leg. They try to argue with me, to get me to lie back down and rest, but I wave my hand at their concern and walk away, assuring them that I won’t go far.  
True to my words, I don’t stray far away, but rather climb the nearby hill. What I see on the other sides makes the hairs on my back stand up and goosebumps to run up and down my spine. From my current position, despite the dim glow the now revealed moon offers, the Mirkwood forest is just as terrifying as when the sun lights it during the day. Many don’t actually see it as something to be afraid of, believing there are merely trees in there, nothing worth bothering. Yet I have heard many stories of people getting lost and dying in these same woods, drugged by the poisonous mist that the trees’ crowns press down, making it thicker and even more toxic. Unconsciously I hug myself, feeling intimidated by the sheer sight of its looming frame.  
The sudden sound of steps coming closer makes me look over my shoulder, only to spot none other than Thorin himself heading my way with a grim expression of his face. As usual.  
When we come to stand side by side, me being slightly taller than him, I still feel rather small and vulnerable compared to his authoritative form. His penetrating blue eyes, intense stare and slight frown never cease to make me feel on edge, as if I have done something wrong. Even now I’m twitchy and nervous by his presence.  
“What’s in those woods?” his low baritone voice breaks the silence.  
He knows what lies within those trees – the Elven Kingdom, whose inhabitants he deeply despises.  
“The air in that forest is known to be poisonous, making whoever passes through it hallucinate and lose the path, which leads to inevitable death.” I say in a low voice, another shiver running down my spine.  
He stays silent and we observe the otherwise calm scenery. The chilly wind makes my skin prickle and unconsciously I wrap my hands around myself tighter.  
“I thought the Ice Witch doesn’t feel cold.” his voice seems rather irritated and I look at him, feeling rather angry.  
“Well, the Ice Witch just stopped an ice storm from freezing you to death and is rather low on power. You must excuse her human needs every once in a while.” my sarcasm is thick and almost cuts at the air between us.  
Another chill shakes my body and I frown, realising just how weak I am and how little time I have to regain my strength in order to be ready for tomorrow’s journey in the depths of that forest. Thorin moves beside me, probably turning around to leave, and I can’t help but feel sorry for snapping at him like that. ‘He has a lot on his mind, it’s normal to be rather gruff and gloomy.’ I think. As I’m about to turn around and apologise for my awful behaviour a second ago, something heavy and warm is thrown over my shoulders. The unexpected weight of said garment almost makes me lose my footing, and if it wasn’t for Thorin’s hold of my elbow, I’d have surely rolled down the hill. ‘Not like I haven’t done that today.’ I muse and look at what exactly is pushing my rather light form so hard towards the ground. It turns out it’s Thorin’s coat, all warmed up and fluffy. Blinking a few times in confusion I turn my gaze back at the dwarf, only to see him staring back at the forest, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as yet another frown is about to grace his face.  
“Stop it.” I whisper as I pull the coat closer around myself, letting it engulf me in a warm embrace, alongside Thorin’s scent.  
“Hm?” he grunts and throws a sideway glance my way.  
“Worrying over what’s to come. It will come either ways. You are not doing yourself a favour here. One way or another we will pass through that forest tomorrow. It’s a waste of nerves and time to try and figure out what may be awaiting us.” I say, my voice calm and light, yet filled with worry.  
“I don’t like being told what to do. Yet alone by another know-it-all wizard.” he huffs, obviously not appreciating my advice.  
Somehow that doesn’t offend me, but quite the opposite, it makes me smile and a small laugh skips past my lips. The unexpected reaction makes him turn to look at me, a rather puzzled expression on his handsome face. Yet the defensiveness is quick to overtake, and the wonder is masked behind hostility in an eye blink.  
“What’s so funny?” his voice is sharp and ready to put me in my place if the need calls for it.  
“Your attitude towards others, apart from your kin, trying to help you. I find it amusing what bad opinion you have for outsiders, not even giving them a chance to prove themselves as worthy for your trust.” despite the small smile still being present, my voice is rather sad.  
“And there’s a reason for that!” his reply is edgy, as if I had just insulted him.  
‘I may have. Who knows? Dwarves are unpredictable in their predicaments.’ I muse and look up at the moon, letting its dim light soak into my skin for a second or two.  
“I have heard the story, yes, and I do not blame you for your hostility. I just wish you at least gave me a chance to prove myself as trust-worthy one day. I’d like nothing more.” my revelation startles me for a second, yet I know it’s true up to the last word.  
“You are loyal only to yourself. How do you expect me to trust you when you are unpredictable and don’t care for the lives of the men in my group?” his accusation achieves its goal to offend me, yet I can’t help but see some truth in his words.  
“That’s true, unfortunately. Yet in that matter we are alike – you trust only your kin, as no one came to help you when you needed it. I trust myself, because I have no one else I can rely on. I don’t have a kin I belong to, or a family, to which I must be loyal. I have my ice warriors, yet they need only orders, not fealty. So don’t be hard on judging me, Thorin Oakenshiled, as you don’t know how hard life is when you are alone in the truest and harshest meaning of the word.” the whispers are carried away by the wind and I gulp, feeling tears forming in the corners of my eyes.  
For a second the only noise that fills the silence between us is the one of the night and its residents. Feeling rather wan of both strength and will, I pull the coat away and proceed to hand it back to the dwarf to which he just shakes his head, his eyes aimed ahead, as if not wishing to see me. Without another word I once again wrap myself in the warm furs and head back down, where the rest of the group is mostly sleeping.  
Upon my arrival Kili looks up, noticing his uncle’s coat on my shoulders and gives me a rather worried look, as if apologising for whatever Thorin may have said to offend me. Giving the brunet a weak smile I lie down and curl into a ball, feeling the dull pain returning as well as a new, rather foreign feeling forming deep in me. Pondering at its origin for what seems like an hour, I soon feel myself growing numb and my mind shuts down, allowing me the needed rest.

*`*`*

The next morning I’m awoken by a shake, so light that I take it for the breeze nagging at me. Yet the dulled voices that soon follow get my senses on high alert, until I realise it’s the dwarves’ speech. Cracking an eye open I look at my surrounding as much as my current position allows it. Next to my still curled body is Bilbo with a rather regretful look on his face.  
“Sorry to wake you up Isis, but it’s time for breakfast.” he sounds genuinely rueful for waking me, which makes me smile at him and nod.  
As usual it takes some persuasion to get my body to wake up and work. Sitting up I stretch my hands, hearing the distinguishable popping of my joins as they reposition themselves. Accustomed to this sound, as well as the one of my neck cracking when I tilt my head from left to right, I don’t pay it much attention.  
“What in the name of Durin’s beard was that, lass? Do you have something broken from yesterday?” It’s Balin’s worried voice that finally gets me to open my eyes and look around, noticing the strange looks everyone is giving me.  
“Nay. Just a little bit stiff. It’s normal.” I smile at them and finally stand up, stretching my feet as well.  
“Can you make your back pop like that?” asks Kili, obviously too excited about something as trivial as this.  
“Kili! She got injured yesterday! Leave her alone!” it’s Fili’s voice that is quick to dampen the enthusiasm of his younger brother.  
Yet I smile at him and nod.  
“I can do something even better.” my conspiratorial whisper doesn’t skip past the ears of the others, yet no one makes a go at trying to talk me out of it.  
Planting me feet firmly in the ground for support I check if there’s something in which I may hit myself, and when I’m sure it’s all clear, I arch my body back, successfully making a nicely arched backbend, accompanied with the cracking sound of my spine rearranging itself. After a few seconds in which my body stretches I move my right leg slightly backwards without unbalancing my body, and use it as a lever to push myself up successfully. Kili and the rest are over the moon thanks to my performance and after the obligatory interrogation if I’m alright or if I have hurt myself in any way, they are quick to show their amazement with my ‘gift’. The care-free and cheerful mood quickly sets everyone is a better spirit and the breakfast is loud and chatty. 

***

The Mirkwood forest, even lighted by the warm rays of the sun, still preserves its horrifying eradiation, making my senses stand on guard and the staff in my hand to acquire a new layer of ice due to my emotions. In front of the entrance I stop, a strange feeling washing over me.  
“You never told me what made Gandalf leave?” I ask and look at Thorin, who stops at my right, staring at the forest rather incredulously.  
“He came here. He must have seen something.” it’s Bofur who answers my question.  
Without another word I take a few more steps forward, until I reach a statue. What catches my attention is not the immortalized image of an elf, but rather the ivy that’s engulfing it into a cocoon and obviously has been ripped away quite recently. Finally close enough, I glance at what’s been revealed. It takes all my self-control to contain myself from jumping away from the cursed symbol when my eyes finally stop on it. Dread washes over me and I realise why Gandalf had left us behind. ‘He went to warn the White council.’ Sighing I take a step away and return to the path, nodding towards the still waiting dwarves to come along.  
The conversations are kept at bay as everyone is concentrated on following the tiles marking the way and not drifting away. Yet soon enough, despite Thorin’s leadership and assurance that we are on the right track, I know we are lost. Looking around us, I can’t help but notice that everything looks exactly the same. The needed confirmation to my thesis appears when we pass by a rock I marked.  
“Stop.” I say, but the dwarves continue, as if not hearing me.  
“Stop!” I shout, making Thorin and the rest turn around.  
“We already passed through here.” I tell them and show the ice dash I left over the hard surface of the rock what feels like hours ago.  
The disbelief is soon replaced by worry and fear. Even Thorin’s façade doesn’t manage to hide the dread in his eyes upon realising we have been walking in circles this whole time.  
My revelation is the last drop in the group’s none-existed self-confidence and soon they all start scattering around, claiming to have found the right way. Some even come to argue and almost fight.  
“Stop it! All of you!” I yell their way, only to receive rather empty and glassy eyes. “It’s the mist! It’s playing with us!” trying to reason with someone as pig-headed as a dwarf, just like I predicted, is a waste of time.  
“You are not the leader! I am! Don’t tell us around as if you are above us, witch!” Thorin seems to have lost the battle against the hallucinogenic gas alongside his fellow companions.  
By the disorientated look in his eyes, his suddenly weak body, and the way he sits on a rock, looking around in a worried and scared manner, I realise he’s afraid. ‘He’s not himself.’  
“Look at me Thorin!” I hiss when I stop next to his lightly sulked posture. “Look at me!”  
His head barely raises and I look into his glossy eyes. ‘As if he’s in a trance…’  
“You need to fight this! Focus! We must get the rest out of here!” persuading him only results in snarky and offensive remarks.  
Frowning and moving away, as he’s obviously of no help in his current state, I start looking for the path myself. Roaming between the trees and staring intensely at anything that looks unclear, I soon manage to find the right way. My happy exclamation is swallowed by the forest’s still air. And when I turn around I notice that upon finding it, I have lost the dwarves. Calling out for them, I receive no reply.  
“Dammit!” I cuss under my breath, unsure of what to do next.  
It’s common knowledge that if I return for them, they won’t even listen for me, let alone follow. Furthermore, I may completely lose the path, which is of no help either. ‘That leaves only one way then.’ I muse and rush forward, following the paved road and praying that the dwarves will hold up until I manage to find help.

*`*`*

An hour or so later I’ surrounded by elves whose arrows are pointed at me, ready to kill on spot if needed.  
“Who is your commander?” I ask loud enough so that everyone can hear me, even those high up in the trees.  
“I am.” a male comes from between the trees, his bow in his hand.  
His tall and slender frame, so common for an elf, has that air of aristocracy and power around it. His obsidian blue eyes look at me with distrust. Nodding my head in greeting, I try to look as less harm-imposing as possible.  
“I’m the Ice Witch of the Evergreen Forest. I come in peace and to search for your aid.” despite not having practised the elven tongue for many years, I’m proud at how fluently and smooth the words leave my lips.  
The man in front of me seems surprised that I have such knowledge of his mother language, but the frown that appears after that leaves an uneasy feeling in me.  
“What do you seek so far away from your home, Ice Witch?” the suspiciousness in his voice doesn’t skip me, nor does the fact that his soldiers are still ready to shoot their arrows at me.  
“My friends and I are just passing through your woods. Unfortunately they got affected by the mist and need help. I came to ask for your mercy and assistance in getting them on the right track once again.”  
It turns out it’s just as hard to reason with an elf as it is with a dwarf, but at least the one in front of me has enough brains to think rationally. Sending me away with two of his men back to the palace and taking the rest in order to search for the company is the best I can bargain for, so without complains I follow my escort.  
Upon entering the Elven palace I can’t help but be amazed by its magnitude and rich decorations. It’s hard to stop my eyes from darting in all directions, all the meanwhile trying to memorize the way from the front door to the throne room. There, in his spectacular throne, I find no one else but the Elven king himself. His radiant blue orbs look at me in a rather amused manner before he nods at his guards to leave us.  
“Fair meeting, King Thranduil.” I bow slightly in recognition, reminding myself what Gandalf once told me – to have a certain way with royalties, as they like to be pampered and bowed to.  
“A fair one indeed, Isis.” he replies, his voice smooth and sugary. Almost too sugary.  
“What brings you in my realm?” his eyes try to look right through me, and I know even the slightest lie, if detected, may be the end of us.  
“Myself and a group of dwarves and a hobbit are passing by.” I begin, only to notice his features hardening upon hearing this.  
“Dwarves?” he spits the words and I nod.  
“Yes, Your Majesty. We wish to cause no trouble. Only to peacefully pass through your lands and continue our journey.” my voice is mild and kind to the extend where I feel like choking on the words.  
“And what journey may that be?” his raised eyebrow and piercing stare make me grit my teeth.  
“One with a very noble purpose, Your Majesty.” the heat that washes over me is a clear indicator of how nervous I am, knowing what will follow.  
“Is that so? Awakening that beast in the mountains is now considered a noble cause?” his voice is mocking, obviously not pleased with what I am saying.  
“Reclaiming their home and killing the drake is a noble cause, though.” I stand my ground, not letting emotions take control over me.  
“But at what price?” the authority in the Elven king’s words echoes throughout the hall, creating the desired effect at making his victim feel rather small.  
“Everything worth fighting for has a prise, Your Majesty, and you know that better than anyone else.” I state, the mildness already gone and cold yet controlled fury taking its place.  
“What do you ask of me?” his irritated voice makes me grit my teeth, yet fighting against any odds I try to keep my façade the same, and my voice at least respectful.  
“Only to hear them out, and if you find it fitting, to let us continue our path.” the plea comes out a little bit more desperate than I intended, but either way there’s nothing to lose.  
“And who will I be talking with, if, let’s say, I agree to meet with the leader of this company?”  
Something tells me Thranduil already knows the answer to that question as well, yet finds sick joy in tormenting me. Either way I play along.  
“Thorin Oakenshield.” I reply.  
The King only laughs, making my cheeks burn in a blazing rosy hue, and my temper threatens to get the best of me. Somehow, by some strange magic probably, I restrain myself from commenting or freezing the Elf’s ass on the spot; rather let him laugh for a while, giving him the not-so-amused look.  
“And what guarantee do I have that that barbaric creature will show some common thought and manner while in my presence?”  
“I will be your guarantee, You Majesty. If Thorin in some way provokes you, you can do what you find suitable with us.” I say, once again bowing my head in respect.  
“I only beg of you to not harm them and hear Thorin out.” I finish and look in Thranduil’s impenetrable eyes, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.  
“Why are you clinging up to them so fiercely? Why not leave them to my mercy?” He tilts his head to the side, studying me once again.  
“Because I believe in what they are fighting for and in their success.”  
The elf stays silent for a while before he nods his head, his long blonde hair sliding down his tunic.  
“You shall be called when the dwarves are retreated.” with a wave of his hand I’m dismissed.  
Walking away, accompanied by a man of his guard, I can’t help but feel rather worried at what’s to come. Thorin harbours great hate towards elves, Thranduil in particular, and probably I just made a deal with a price far too great to pay. Overestimating the Dwarven king’s resourcefulness may become bad not only for me but for everyone associated with us. With a frown I’m led into what I believe is a guest room in the lower levels of the castle. There I find wine, food, clean clothes and a warm bath. ‘This may prove to be quite interesting.’ my sarcasm is accompanied by a nice big gulp of wine.

*`*`*

I’m called a day later back into the Great Hall, where I find Thranduil already speaking with Thorin. The dwarf has that characteristically grim expression on his face, yet when I come closer his eyes widen and a combination of amazement and delight fill his otherwise cold blue orbs, before the mask falls back down.  
“Ah, Isis, a pleasure to grace us with your presence, at last.” the hint in his voice makes me frown.  
‘What is he doing? Messing with me?’ I wonder and then sneak a glance at Thorin. By the look that crosses his face I feel the blood in my veins growing cold. ‘No. He’s messing with him.’  
Gritting my teeth I proceed to near the two males, not skipping to notice the same elf that I ran into yesterday, leaning on a pillar and watching the unfolding scene with a rather bored look. Containing myself from any further action I stand aside, anticipating what is to happen. Knowing Thorin’s mood when it comes the Elven kin – definitely noting good.  
“I offer you my help.” begins Thranduil, finally getting down from his throne.  
“I am listening.” shots back Thorin as he turns his back to the elf and takes a few steps away, creating a fair distance between them.  
“I will let you go if you but return what is mine.” by the sound of those words I want to shout at Thorin to say yes without his hate and big mouth getting us in more trouble.  
“A favour for a favour…?” the dwarf seems interested in what is being offered and I can’t help but get my hopes up.  
“You have my word, one King to another.”  
Upon hearing that I know we are doomed to rot in the cells. Thorin would rather take his chances in killing the Elven King than accept any proposal whatsoever that will come after that line. After all the treachery Thranduil committed when Erebor fell, leaving the Durin’s folk on their own could be neither forgiven, nor forgotten.  
“I would not trust Thranduil, the great King, to honour his word should the end of all days be upon us! You lack all honour! I have seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back. You turned away from the suffering of my people in the inferno that destroyed us!” Thorin’s harsh but truthful words resonate in the room and I look away, clenching my fists. ‘Our fate is sealed…’  
“Do not speak to ME of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin! I have faced the great serpents of the north!... I warned your grandfather what his greed would summon. He would not listen... You are just like him. So go, stay here and rot. One hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf! I'm patient! I can wait!” the elf hisses at his opponent, and by the bewildered look that crosses Thorin’s face for a split second, I know Thranduil has revealed what lies under the spell that’s casted on his scared flesh.  
With that the Great Elven King turns around, his long hair swaying behind him and returns to his throne. Elves leave their places behind the pillars and near the dwarf all the meanwhile pushing me forward, so that I stand in front of their king. With my head bowed and my fists clenched by my sides, I gather the remains of both my pride and courage and face him. Despite the fury still burning in his eyes, I see the victory of proving me wrong, and a slight hint of sorrow.  
“You see, Isis? Your precious dwarves seem to be unworthy of your protection and advocacy.” he gives me a sad, yet knowing smile, and continues his tirade, not paying any attention to Thorin.  
“All your pleas were to no purpose. The dwarves are a savage folk; too pig-headed to be dealt with.”  
A silence settles and I can literally feel Thorin’s eyes on me as he wants to say something, or at least for me to defend them, him. ‘On what basis?’ I sadly avert my eyes for a second.  
“We had an agreement, Elven King. You kept your part. And I shall keep mine. Do what you find suitable – I shall not oppose you.” my voice is lifeless and empty, yet firm as my eyes once again meet the ice blue crystals of the elf.  
He just smiles, obviously pleased by what he just heard.  
“What agreement?” the deep baritone of Thorin’s voice echoes in the hall, demanding answers.  
Against all odds I hope Thranduil will ignore the question, but the smile that spills across his pale skin tells me otherwise.  
“She agreed that were I to spare you and hear you out, unless we reach an agreement, I’d be free to do whatever I please with all of you.”  
I take a deep breath, literally feeling the dwarf’s rage spilling from each and every cell in his body.  
“And now…” he continues, waving at his guards to take us away. “Throw them all in a cell. And take the witch all of her belongings – I don’t want even dust on her hands!”  
With that we are pulled away harshly and led out of the room. During the taking of all my stuff and the walk to the dungeons, my eyes are firmly planted in front of me, a dark aura surrounding me like a thick vail.  
We are thrown in separate cells and despite the happiness that overtakes the dwarves upon seeing me amongst them, at the sight of my chained hands and the ruff way I’m pushed into the cell, their enthusiasm is quick to die out.  
I sulk into the small claustrophobic space and curl into a ball, with my head coming to rest on my hands. ‘This day is just getting better and better as it goes.’


	6. Laketown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Finally some Bard!! ^_^

The small cell in which I’m being kept is giving me the heebie-jeebies as there’s barely any space in which to turn around, let alone pace. So I just sit near the door, with my knees pulled to my chest and my hands wrapped around my legs and allow my head to rest on them. The silence, so tense and heavy-weighting upon us makes me want to start blowing things up just for the fun of it. ‘We must not stay here any longer! It’s been two days, dammit!’ my inner monologue is cut short by the sound of nearing steps. Looking outside through the bars, I notice a strange movement in the air before Bilbo materializes in front of Thorin’s cell, his smile accompanied by the jingling sound of keys. My eyes widen slightly and a smirk tugs at my lips as the Hobbit runs from cell to cell and fiddles with the keys until he unlocks the doors. When finally upon my own little prison, he gives me a beaming smile and quickly sets me free. The moment my foot steps out, I wrap my hands around Bilbo’s neck and bring him in for a warm hug, filled with gratitude.   
“A great pleasure to see you well and living up to your name, Bilbo, our little burglar.” I whisper as I look deep into his caramel eyes, filled with childish glee mixed with worry.  
“An even greater pleasure to see you alive and well, Isis,” he hushes while leading me to where the others are standing. “Yet I advise you to hurry. I know how to get out of here while the elves are celebrating.” he is quick to head forward, yet I catch up and put my hand on his shoulder.  
“You have been lurking around, yes? Tell me where I can find the weaponry.” I whisper.  
“What?! We can’t go up there! It’s a few stories up, but it’s dangerous and…” he stops and stares at me for a whole second, before shaking his head, the realisation finally catching up with him. “No, no, no! You can’t go there! They’ll catch you!”   
“Master Baggings, I cannot leave without my belongings, and you are aware of that.” I insist, all the meanwhile trying to pinpoint where my staff is through the connection I have with it.  
The Hobbit gives me a sad look that makes my heart break, yet I stand my ground.  
“We are wasting time!” hushes Thorin, who obviously has had enough encounters with elves for the rest of his life.  
“Where Bilbo?” I press even more and can literally see the little sweat drops rolling down his face.   
“Three stories up – only right turns. You’ll spot it – a huge wooden door with a golden sword on it.”  
I just nod and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. His worry makes me both happy and sad.  
“What! Where’s she going?” Thorin’s hush comes out rather as a low yell, which resonates wonderfully in the vast space.  
A simultaneous shush follows and I look over my shoulder towards the dwarves that just can’t wait to get out of here. I can’t blame them – my need for freedom at this very moment greatly exceeds any expectation I had, yet leaving behind my staff and sword is unthinkable, let alone unacceptable. So with a single nod I dash in the opposite direction, taking a few steps at a time and letting my instincts, and Bilbo’s directions, lead me.  
It takes some time but I finally find the weaponry. Luckily all the elves are somewhere celebrating, so there’s no one guarding the doors. Lighting my way around through the vast space filled with various weapons and armours, the sight of the glow of my staff makes my heart swell with happiness. Making a run for it I grab my things alongside a few swords and dash out. Halfway down the hall the sound of nearing voices makes me halt. The loud booming echo of the horn that signalizes the prisoners have escaped makes me run, this time in the opposite direction. ‘Dammit!’ with each step I take I hope everyone is already out and safe; while I wander around the vast corridors, my only hope is that I’ll manage to sneak out of here and held them. The sudden appearance of a window easies things significantly.  
*`*`*

The wind blows in my face as I run as fast as possible down the path, following the Orcs and elves, and supposedly the dwarves in barrels. My ice soldiers are still safely tucked away in my pocket but as I near the hunting party currently anchored at the gate, I notice I’ll need their help. With a single movement I pull three out and whisper the spell before jumping from a rock and driving my blade into one pretty hideous Orc that was aiming at Thorin. The creature falls with a howl and I quickly take up the next one, all the meanwhile keeping an eye on the dwarves.  
“Kill the Orcs!” I shout at my warriors and they immediately pull out their swords.  
Ducking and slicing at the attackers I skip to notice Kili getting out of his barrel and climbing up the steps. With the corner of my eye, seconds before it happens, I glimpse at an arrow flying his way. In the midst of the battle, with my sword raised to block an attack, dread settles in faster that I can imagine.   
Before even thinking it through, a spell slips past my lips and the arrow freezes in mid-air so that when it collides with the young dwarf’s chest moments later it shatters into thousands of pieces, doing no harm to Kili, apart from sending him flat on his ass. With a low chuckle I resume fighting, barely skipping past a blow.   
“Hell’s bells!” I hiss and kill another Orc before running down the bank of the river, following the retreating group.   
More than once I catch Thorin’s gaze and read worry and shock in his otherwise unreadable blue eyes. Nipping at my lip I bring two fingers to my mouth and whistle. The high-pitched noise makes my soldiers come at once, having my back covered. In a sudden spur of braveness I tone up and jump right across the river. The water freezes under my touch, creating a slide in which I swing from side to side, skipping past the dwarves and giving them random weapons I got from the weaponry. Upon reaching Thorin, I take hold of his barrel for support and extend my hand to give him a sword when the loud booming noise in the distance tells me there’s a new obstacle in our way.   
“A waterfall!!!” I shout and try to move away, only for the current to throw me back against the dwarf’s barrel.  
“Dammit!” I hiss and move the hair out of my face.  
It’s incredibly hard to freeze water when it moves with such great speed, so I let the magic disappear, making the ice slide melt away. Now, with only the barrel for support, I look around frantically for a way to get out of the stream.   
“Grab tight!” it is Thorin’s voice that somehow manages to outshout the booming of upcoming waterfall.  
Looking his way I see him gripping the sides of the barrel for dear life, his knuckles having turned white from the pressure.   
Gritting my teeth I follow his advice and tighten my grip over the wood. The fast and merciless currents rattle me around like a rag doll, and before I know it we are falling. The last thing I see before the collision, surprisingly, is Thorin’s blue eyes pretty close to my face.

*`*`*

Waking up with the second worst headache in my life, I can’t help but wonder how many times I will have to lose consciousness before we reach that mountain. Rolling to my back, with a soft groan I try to pry my eyes open and look around. Yet the dazzling light of the sun and the banging in the back of my neck make me stay put for at least a second more until the pulsation subsides. Blinking my eyes open and carefully raising on my elbows, I find myself on a rocky shore, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. And the worst part is there’s no sign of the dwarves.  
“Dammit!” muttering under my breath I push myself up and look around for my staff and sword.  
Thankfully they’re not far away so soon I begin my searching for the party. Despite general belief, to find a dwarf in an open space like this one is not as halfway easy as it should be. My frown deepens and worry settles in as after a whole hour worth of walking around there’s not even a trace of them. Eventually, seeing no other way, I summon back the soldiers I sent ahead to scout and after whispering the shrinking spell put them in the pocket of my still dripping wet vest.   
Stepping on the shore, with the cold water hitting my shoes, I know the only way they must have heated is towards Laketown – the only human-inhabited place miles from here. Sighting at the thought of having to walk all the way there, I pull my staff from its place and spin it in my hand. For a second nothing happens. Then when I put my foot over the liquid mass, it immediately freezes, allowing me to step on hard surface and basically walk. Once getting the hang of it, I set a faster pace towards the general direction of the village, which I have seen only scribbled on a map.   
As I’m casually striding over the frozen water, I can’t help but wonder how long I have been out and how come I reached so far into the shore. Frowning at those and many more questions, I skip to notice the boat that appears out of nowhere. Only when the water under me moves unsteadily and the ice cracks do I pay attention to the change in environment.  
“For the love of… You there! Man! Stop that retched boat of yours before I drop in those icy waters!” I shout at the man at the rudder, dressed in strange-looking clothes.  
‘Well, maybe he’s dressed according to the weather… unlike me. ’ Throwing a glance at my still rather wet and clingy pieces of garments, I reconsider my first impression of the fisherman who may turn out to be an easy way into Laketown.  
When the boat stops moving I take a closer look at the male – he seems in his middle thirties, with a few premature white strands in his hair; his eyes are something between emerald green and deep oak brown. His clothes, just like from afar, appear rather primitive yet definitely warmer than mine – the furs for sure are offering greater protection from the icy air and the thick mist compared to my thin layers of cotton. And if it wasn’t for the deep frown that graces his rather handsome face, the man in front of me doesn’t seem threatening at all.   
“Who are you?” his deep voice booms louder than I’d have expected.  
“Isis. And yours truly, if I may?” tilting my head in greeting, I try to be as less threatening as possible.  
“Bard.” his curt reply makes me wonder if everyone in this part of the world has gotten so accustomed to the weather that it has soaked under their skin and made them just as deprived of warmth.  
The man looks at me with a certain degree of distrust, not that I blame him for it, before nodding towards my feet. Looking down, I see nothing wrong.  
“Is there a problem with my footing?” I arch an eyebrow his way.  
“Yes. It stands over frozen water.” he ascertains in a rather disapproving manner, as if that’s offending him in some way.  
“Is it forbidden to walk over frozen water in this end of the world?” I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as the ridiculous question rolls out of my tongue.  
With a delight I notice the frown on his face melting away and a small smile appears before he chuckles and shakes his head.  
“Nah. It’s just a rare sight.”   
Not so subtly his eyes travel up and down my body, studying my not only strange, but quite impractical clothes, before noticing the staff in my right hand. By the sight of it, his eyes lose their spark and he’s once again gloomy and filled with suspicion.  
“By the look in your eyes, I’m not the only rare sight to come across you recently.”  
Noting the strange flicker of change gracing his features I know I hit the right spot. Both worry and happiness swirl in me at the thought that maybe he has seen the dwarves.  
“Indeed. I came across a bunch of dwarves and a hobbit a few day ago.” he nods back towards the shore I came from.  
“A few days ago?” my voice reaches a pretty nasty high-pitched tone as the realisation hits me. “I have been lying on that rocky shore for days!?”  
The man just raises an eyebrow my way, obviously not understanding what I’m making such a scene about. Shaking my head, I once again smile at the boatman appealingly.  
“Would you be so kind to tell me how to reach Laketown?”   
For a second his cold and calculating gaze clashes with mine until eventually he nods towards where he came from.   
“And how long will it take me to reach it?”  
“Depends on your walking. An hour or so.” he shrugs and I can’t help but admire the way he seems to be embracing the weirdness around him so light-heartedly – nothing can touch him; not even a petit female in wet clothes walking on water as if it’s her birth right.   
A small smile finds its way on my face and I nod at the man.  
“You have been generously helpful, Master Bard, for which I will be eternally grateful.”  
With that I turn on my heel and tap on the surface of the water, making it turn into ice immediately. The path that appears is wide enough so that three can walk with no problem and thick to hold the weight of ten well-fed men. Without looking back, I grip my staff and run forward, my steps emitting a soft patting motion before the blotches of ice melt away.

*`*`*

Upon reaching the outskirts of Laketown, I can’t help but feel sorry for the people living here – the place is a bunch of floating houses that loom over the small canals and threaten to crumble down any moment. It has that sad and depressed aura suffocating it and depriving its residents from the smallest sparks of joy. The few living souls I manage to spot all give me a strange, frightened and distrustful looks before quickly skirting away, hiding the children. ‘As if I’m the witch from their scary bedtime stories, the child thief. Who has that much free time to dwell and steal the naughty ones?’ I mentally scoff before my sudden laughter at the irony makes the few still lingering out in the coldness of the day give me strange looks. Quickly hiding away my staff and pulling the hood lower over my head, I enter deeper into the village, hoping that I’ll figure out a way to find the dwarves before night falls. If they are still here, that is.   
As I’m walking down one pretty narrow path a sudden tug in the back of my mind startles me, almost making me tumble over into the dirty water and get wet all over again. Looking around, with my hands over the small blades holstered around my upper thighs, I try to spot whatever may be causing my instincts to react. For a few seconds nothing happens. The only disturbance of the eerie silence is the racket coming from the inn I passed by not so long ago. As I am about to brush away what happened as mere tiredness the feeling appears again, this time more prominent and persisting; familiarity and alluringness dripping from it.  
“The flute!” I mumble and with heart filled with hope follow the tug until I come upon a two-storey house that looks just like every other I have been passing by the whole afternoon – as if it had been there long before mankind, with its second floor looming over the water in a rather worrying manner.   
Suddenly bells start ringing in the back of my mind, making me look around at the sudden feeling of someone or something watching me. Yet the streets are deserted; there are even no cats in sight. ‘No cats in sight…’ the ascertainment sounds rather familiar, yet I can’t place my finger from where exactly. With a low sigh, blaming those strange feelings on both exhaustion and the bad hit I received on the head after falling a few waterfalls down, I once again near the house, ignoring the needles poking the back of my head, as if someone’s boring a hole through my scull.  
There’s light coming from the second floor that implies there’s somebody home. Cautiously climbing up the stairs and trying not to make them creak under my weigh, I place my hand on the door once I reach the platform. The effect is immediate – a tingly sensation runs from the tips of my fingers and three small runes appear over the wood. The symbols forming the word for ice in the Old language look like they were engraved into the door by the finest masters of woodcarving, leaving the impression of always having been there. Sudden yelps and rumbling echoes from inside, signalising that the residents have noticed the changes on their side as well. Hushed voices, two females and a few male ones follow as there seems to be an argument regarding if they should do something or not. To ease their situation, I knock on the door softly, silencing the quarrel.  
After a few seconds the door cracks open and the youthful face of a girl appears. She looks around 16 with her copper-coloured hair braided and pulled back. At first she appears slightly scared but after she takes notice that I’m a female as well, a challenging and brave flame appears in her amber eyes, making me smile.   
“Good evening. I’m sorry to intrude at your home at this hour of night, but I fear you have something that’s mine.”  
She gulps rather nervously, but stands her ground. That’s until another girl, this time around the age of 7, throws the door open and her huge green eyes stare up at me with badly hidden glee.  
“Are you really a witch?” is the first thing that spills from her mouth.  
“Tilda!” the older one snaps and quickly grabs the youngling by the hand, successfully pushing her back into the safety of the house.  
Another set of steps quickly nears and a familiar face finally appears. Fili’s blonde head makes me want to pull him into a fierce hug before strangling him for leaving me behind.  
“Isis! I’m so glad to see you!”   
I smile his way and nod my head, feeling relief wash over me at the thought that I finally caught up with the party. Yet before I have the chance to express my happiness, I notice the worried expression on the young dwarf’s face and the way his eyes dart back towards the room.  
“What’s wrong?”   
“It’s Kili. He got hit by an arrow, that was poisonous.”  
Without further ado, I’m allowed to enter. Immediately stopping by the wounded man’s bed, the first things I notice are the pale, almost transparent colour of his skin, the yellowish circles under his eyes and his heavy breathing. Getting rid of my cape, I toss it to the side and begin to examine the infected wound. True to the older brother’s words, the arrow’s tip must have been dipped in some kind of poison as the hole from where the blade was pulled out has acquired a rather worrying shade of purple.   
Unfortunately, apart from allowing his body to cool down a little bit and make the pain subside, there’s nothing else I can do for the young dwarf. The two girls – Sigrid and Tilda, constantly keep on throwing sideway glances at me, not sure whether or not to trust me. The pressure in the room is reaching dangerously high levels when the door burst open, only to be closed with a soft click, a young boy stepping into the warmth of the room.  
“Bain! Where’s Da?” Sigrid quickly runs to his side and helps him take off his coat, all the meanwhile filling him in on what has happened while he was absent.  
“This is our brother, Bain.” little Tilda chirps and wraps her slender arms around her big brother’s waist, making him flinch, obviously not accustomed to the gesture.   
“It’s a pleasure, young Mater Bain. I’m Isis.” throwing a smile his way I notice the small blush that colours his cheeks moments later.  
The boy’s cautious smile makes mine widen and I gently tilt my head, in a manner common for those, who do not wish to be perceived as a threat.   
“Tell him.” little Tilda squeals excitedly, her eyes two sparkling pools of green glee.  
The small laugh that skips past my lips sounds care-free and amused as the little girl’s enthusiasm regarding my nature only makes me feel greater warmth towards her.   
In front of her brother’s amazed stare I make snow start falling from the ceiling and gently rain upon them. Kili’s thankful moan for the change in temperature is the reminder I need to once again avert my eyes his way. Fili, who’s inseparably by his side, looks not only pale, but also angered.   
Yet not wishing to tear his attention from his ill sibling , I look at Bofur who’s still twirling my Ice flute in his hands, and ask him the question that has been bugging me the whole time.  
“Where are the others?”

*`*`*

Enraged can’t even begin to describe how I feel after things finally settle down and the room is once again washed by quietness and probably false sense of tranquillity.  
After Bofur told me what had happened with the party and apologised numerous times for not being able to find me, he added that Thorin had been acting rather strange the whole way here, as if his judgement had been clouded by something else.  
“He left his nephews and you here and sailed towards the Mountain. Clouded mind can’t even begin to describe his case, unfortunately.”   
Then he told me how a man named Bard, and I assumed it was the same man from before, had offered them help afterwards, when Kili’s condition had worsen drastically. Before sharing anything else the door and roof had burst open and Orcs had appeared, swinging their axes and swords at our heads. It was hard to keep the gruesome creatures away from not only the human children but also from Kili but thankfully elves joined the fun, a long gingered-haired beauty and her companion, who I already knew – the blond male who found me and took me to Thranduil. After defeating the attackers with combined forces Tauriel, who as it appeared had feelings for Kili, saved his life and stayed behind while Legolas ran off to chase the Orcs.  
Now I try to ignore the lovely-dovley between an elf and a dwarf, and rather help Sigrid and her siblings return the house to its previous condition. At the point of pushing back up the tumbled over table, a loud booming sound echoes in the distance, followed by a fierce roar. Immediately the piece of furniture slips past my fingers and collides with the ground with a thud.   
“What was that!?” Tilda shrieks and quickly nears her older sister.  
Without saying a word I run out of the door and with some magic and a good jump end up on the roof next-door and from there to another, higher one. From this spot I look over the Misty Mountains in the distance. For a second the night’s welkin seems void of any signs of life, contrary to all the tales claiming that the birds are returning to the mountain. Narrowing my eyes into slits, a movement, a small flutter in the distance, catches my attention. That’s all I need to make a small icicle materialise in my hand and raise it up to my eyes. After the binocular’s lenses rearrange for a second, I have the ability to see what’s coming our way. The sheer sigh makes a cold shiver run down my spine and fear paralyzes my whole body. With all the will-power I can muster, I jump back down to the platform and enter the destroyed house.   
“Isis! Where ya went to?” Bofur jumps on his feet and nears me, probably noticing my poor state.  
“What did you see?” Kili’s fast to realise that I had been scouting to see what awaits us.  
Looking up from the chair the other dwarf put me in I meet the worried eyes of everyone in the room.   
“So?” It’s Tauriel that snaps me out of my thoughts, making me look at her.  
With a deep breath I stand up and push away the fear that kept me nauseous and week up until now.  
“It’s Smaug. He’s heading this way. Fast. We must get out of here.” the words shoot out of my mouth in a fast pace, leaving no place for arguing.  
“What?” Fili’s eyes widen and he looks at his sibling.  
“You need to leave Laketown immediately.” I grab the older dwarf by the shoulder and shake him slightly. “Get a grip! Move.”  
The blond just blinks at me for a whole second before nodding. Throwing a glance at Tauriel, she nods as well, getting my silent plea to watch over them.  
With that I look at the children, only to notice their worry has grown to an almost hysterical level.  
“Everything’s going to be alright. You must leave immediately.” placing a hand on Sigrid’s shoulder, I notice the fear oozing from her fair skin. “Go with them.”  
With that I head towards the door, pulling my staff from its holster.  
“Where are you going?” Tauriel’s voice rings in the room, outshouting the noise of the others getting ready to leave.  
“I’ll buy you some time. I have unfinished business with that creature.” I say over my shoulder and exit the room.   
The elven woman catches up with me on the platform, her hand on my elbow. When our eyes clash, I notice a strange flame in them.  
“You are the Evocatrix from the tale? The one who fought against the beast on her own and saved thousands of lives?” there’s awe in her mild tone, and respect.   
“I am no longer an Evocatrix, but a Witch. And I failed to defeat Smaug back then, but will mend my mistake now.” the steel in my own voice makes her flinch slightly.  
“You may have not been able to kill the dragon in the days of old, but do not for once forget the innocent lives you have saved.” with that she returns inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts.  
Instead of pondering around, my mind quickly patches up a plan that if not kill, at least will slow down the drake enough so that a greater part of the villagers will manage to save themselves.  
“This time I won’t fail.” gritting my teeth, I summon my power and once again jump on the roof.

As Smaug comes closer by the second, I know what will befall Laketown in mere seconds if I don’t do something about it – ash and sulphur will be the only things left after the fire-breath of the beast ceases to rain from the sky. Gripping my staff I close my eyes and concentrate. It’s been years since I found myself in need to draw strength from Mother Nature in order to perform a spell, yet now seems a fit enough occasion to tap into that connection and see if it still holds any strings. Calming my breathing so that it’s steady and slow, I begin to channel the power of the elements – in my case water, which there’s plenty of here thank goodness, and air, also in surplus. At first there’s a slight resistance but soon my magic overpowers it and the elements bend under my will. Small ice speckles start to hover into the air as I test out the connection; once sure that it will work, I open my eyes and recite the spell. Out of thin air an ice wall appears, high and thick enough to restrain Smaug at least for a few minutes. In seconds the construction has grown enough so to blocks completely the way of the dragon. The second Smaug realises what I’m doing, his jaws open wide and fire fountains flows out of his maw.   
Since the beginning of time fire has been battling water. In the days of Old, my ice clashed with the drake’s fire and I lost; now, many years later, our forces collide once again. ‘It won’t hold for much longer.’ frowning, I see the ice starting to melt from the immense quality of heat that it’s put under. No matter how fast the spell recovers the damage, the wall will soon crumble down and Smaug will burn the town to the ground. ‘I must buy them some more time.’   
Gripping the staff and straightening my shoulders, I once again begin my chant and seek help from my birth elements. As chunks of ice fall down and into the black waters, suddenly the construction comes to life and the same icicles that scared Fenrir not so many nights ago, reaper from the fallen blocks and aim towards the dragon, whose irritation at my successful defence makes him uptight all his force into making the obstacle fall. Under unsaid command all the icicles, trice the size of a human, fly towards the drake with the clear intention to pierce his skin.   
I am no fool – the scales won’t even get scratched by this attack, yet it will buy me some more time; stealing a glance over my shoulder, I notice the chaos that has taken over the citizens of Laketown, who are now frantically pushing each other around, vociferating and tossing each other to the side in desperate attempts to leave the soon to be firebox. Returning my concentration towards the dragon, I see my icicles have pretty much only enraged him further.  
“Evocatrix!! You have come again? Shall I demolish you this time??!” the creature’s voice booms loudly in the night, masking for a second the screams coming from behind me.   
Gritting my teeth, I give the wall one last magical thrust before I turn my back and run. It’s not fear from the beast or death that has me departing, but the need to help the others. I know if I face Smaug now and fight, I won’t defeat him; at least not alone. Unintentionally throwing a sideway glance I notice one of the highest buildings around here, which seems to have been a porthole once, still standing. ‘If only there was a Black arrow near-by.’   
Jumping down from roof to roof, in the distance a loud shattering sound wrecks the air, followed by the splashing of water and crashing of buildings. Without turning to see the fall of the wall, I quicken my pace. Finally stepping down amongst the crowd, I help as many people as possible without getting thrown into the water. Once on one of the main squares, under a rain of fire and a cacophony of agonising screams, I manage to find my way towards the boats. Looking around, with relief I spot Kili, Fili, Bofur, Tauriel and the kids in a small, dangerously rocking boat, trying to make their way through the clogged waterway. Rushing towards them, I manage to hear Bain’s desperate shouts over the yelling adults around me.  
“Da! Da’s locked back there!!” the paralyzing fear and the plea get me to turn around and notice what seems like a prison looming over the river, with someone behind the barred window. A fire stream hits a nearby house and sets it ablaze as Smaug flies over, destroying everything in his path, yet aiding me with some light.   
Trying to walk against the maddened crowd in basically impossible as they push me further back with each step I take.   
“Then I go up.” smirking darkly I swirl my staff and immediately the air around me freezes and an ice stairway appears.  
I’m quick to climb it and run towards the bridge, waving at the man behind the bars to move away. He seems to understand and moves from the wall. An ice sphere appears in my hand seconds later and I throw it forward, successfully hitting and freezing the wooden surface as well at the metal bars. Balling my hand into a fist, the frozen area shatters into pieces and crumbles down. In a blink of an eye I’m standing next to one pretty amazed Bard, who watches me with both awe and gratitude.  
“We must get out of here!” I nod and offer him my hand.  
He raises an eyebrow my way, doubt in his eyes, but soon he takes my small hand into his larger one and I can’t help but notice not only the difference in size, but also warmth – his hand so hot that I feel it through my glove. Snapping myself out of the trance, I look up at his green-brown eyes and smile encouragingly, before jumping out of the hole, pulling him along.   
Enjoying his small yelp when his feet hit the ice, I manoeuvre us over the mass of people towards the boat where the kids and the dwarves are, all the meanwhile trying not to catch the attention of the beast, ripping at the night’s sky with his wings.  
“No! I must stay!” he pulls at my hand, making me stop and look at him.  
“Are you insane! The drake will kill you!” I manage to somehow outshout the noise, but it’s to no vain; the fire and determination in his eyes lets me know that no matter what I say he won’t get persuaded.  
“This is a suicide.” my voice shows the worry that my face probably masks away.  
“I must try.” he squeezes my hand and gives me a small smile. “Make sure my kids get to safety.”  
For a second I stay silent, seeing myself in his clear eyes, before nodding.  
“You have my word that when you come to take them, they’ll be in prefect health.”  
Catching what I’m implying, the tall male smirks and nods as well. Bringing us back down on the ground, by instinct we duck when the building I pulled Bard from not a few minutes ago now explodes, sending pieces of wood and blotches of fire in all directions. Upon rising up, I realised that Bard’s body is hovering over mine, my back pressed against his chest, as he obviously intended to protect me from any flying splinters. When he pulls away I smile at him and nod to the side, gesturing at the ice wall that is in the process of disappearing after it served its purpose of protecting both of us.  
“I’m always protected by my elements, but thanks none the less.” squeezing his hand one last time, I let him go and step away. “Be careful.”  
Without further ado I turn around and run towards the boat. With a swift jump, and a magical slide of course, I end up standing firmly on the rocking piece of wood. After the cheerful greetings from my friends die out I look at Sigrid, whose eyes are filled with fret. I simply raise a questioning eyebrow her way.  
“Bain. He went after Da!” she shouts.  
I turn sharply but upon looking back and taking a step, the boat rocks and I fall to the side, over the dwarves, hitting my head against the hard wood.   
It takes a few minutes to regain my bearings, but by that time we have distanced ourselves considerably from where Bain ran off, and I no longer see him. Gritting my teeth and trying to peer over the many heads of the villagers, the only thing I manage to glimpse is the horror written in numerous eyes, as Smaug keeps on circling over Laketown and pouring rain of fire over our heads. The buildings collapse with crashing sounds and many get buried down under piles of wood. The fire seems to be growing by the second, engulfing everything within its reach. While departing, with a heavy heart after already breaking my promise to Bard to keep his children safe, the only thing I can do is make sure his two daughters leave this living hell unharmed.  
Fire keeps on clashing with ice while we push our way through the canals as I block any flying debris or the drake’s flames falling close by. My ears grow so accustomed to the screaming that eventually the noise gets dulled, becoming more of a background, as all my senses are on high alert for other factors.  
Smaug’s sudden landing on top on the houses sets an eerie silence in my own ears as his large trunk turns out to be worryingly mobile over the unstable constructions that snap like twigs under his weigh. Studying his posture and listening to his booming and demonic laughter, I eventually manage to prey my eyes away from the horrifying creature and rather follow his line of sight. My gaze lands on the tower where the outlines of two figures catch my attention amongst the burning flames. Suddenly my heart turns to lead, as I make out Bard’s figure holding what seems like an arrow, and a shorter one, probably Bain standing right next to him.  
“Is that your child? You cannot save him from fire! He will BURN!” the drake’s words have me summoning my ice once again and with a single swift jump I’m off the boat.  
“I’ll be back!” I shout over my shoulder before quickly skating away over the heads of the terrified villagers, and head towards the monster who seems to be about to burn both father and son. ‘Not when I’m here to prevent it, you damn lizard!’ I fume and speed up, ice-skating around the falling buildings.  
Close enough to finally realise what the fisherman is doing, I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. The black arrow is in his calloused hands, which are trained in the art of archery as I can tell by the workmanship with which he quickly puts together a makeshift bow, using his son’s shoulder and height to target his enemy better. ‘How idiotically brave.’ I muse before collecting a huge ball of swirling ice in my hands, the sphere pulsating with power. This won’t kill, nor injure the beast, but it will give Bard a few extra seconds to get a better aim and that may be all he needs.   
“SMAUG!” I yell and successfully manage to pull his eyes away from the two men who are about to risk their lives.   
“EVOCATRIX!!” he bellows and a sinister laughter leaves his mouth, filled with sharp teeth, “IT’S TIME I PUT AN END TO YOUR PITIFUL EXISTENCE!!”   
His maw gapes at me and I can literally see the fire moving through his oesophagus and up. Right before it reaches that special place in his throat, I throw the ice sphere in his mouth, where it burst and immediately freezes anything in its reach. The drake bellows and despite his claws not being able to take hold of me, his tail does and it knocks me to the side with such force, it leaves me breathless and flying through the air for a few seconds before an ice soldier appears and catches me, softening the fall.   
“Take me to the boat.” I order and allow the frost giant to swiftly carry me around and when we reach the boat gently lay me down before disappearing.   
With my head resting in Kili’s lap, his huge brown eyes looking down at me with worry and fear, I only smile his way and sigh, allowing my lungs to recollect oxygen before sitting up and facing Sigrid and Tilda who is currently curled into a boll into her sister’s lap, shaking. Without thinking I take off my cloak and throw it over the girls, allowing them as much warmth as the material can provide and sit back down.  
“Da and Bain?” Sigrid asks, making me look at where the tower used to be.  
Now there’s nothing, and despite Smaug being dead, his agonising shriek reaching me even through the stupor of fighting for my breath and consciousness, the fact that the construction collapsed with Bard and Bain on it leaves a bad feeling in the pits of my stomach. Yet stealing a glance at the two girls, who went through hell and back tonight, I don’t have the heart to tell them that after such fall there’s little to no chance the men survived. So instead I smile encouragingly and grab Sigrid’s shaking and pale hand, squeezing in reassuringly.   
“They’ll be fine. I give you my word we’ll see them soon.” Tilda seems content enough with what I said, and she snuggles near her sister; Sigrid eyes lovingly the small creature snoozing off in her lap before nodding at me with gratitude.   
Yet the sorrow in her amber eyes tells me she doesn’t believe it. In a fit of desperation, I pull one of my ice warriors from my pocket and whisper the awakening spell, thrusting in it the last drops of my powers. Throwing it into the water, the figure soon surfaces, patiently awaiting my orders.  
“Go find Bard and Bain and bring them back to me. If they need help – provide it. Do not return without them.” without another word the huge warrior swims back towards the remains of Laketown.   
The rest of the journey to the shore is silent and filled with worry… and Kili’s light snoring.


	7. Dale

We have been wandering on the shore, helping other survivors for the better part of the night and in the early morning. The dwarves were highly attentive to the children that needed soothing, yet not even as half as much towards the adults that eyed them with badly masked hostility. Somehow throughout most of the time I managed to keep both Sigrid and Tilda occupied with other stuff, so that they wouldn’t think about their still missing father and brother, yet the more they stopped to rest and catch their breath, the woeful their faces got. Eventually I find myself carrying Tilda in my arms as slumber starts to take over her small form and she barely manages to walk in a straight line; not that Sigrid’s constant tugging helped her keep up with our pace. Now with the young one in my hands and Tauriel, as she’s the tallest, leading the way ahead and away from the crowd, I once again tug at the connection I have with my ice soldier, only to get a rather dull response, an indication that the command to return’s being received and he’s here somewhere, but as if hidden under a cloak of some sorts. ‘What’s wrong, dammit!?’ I mentally fume and dart my eyes around, trying to spot him towering above the crowd.   
“We aren’t going to see Da again, are we?” a meek voice startles me and I look down at Tilda’s sad eyes.  
My jaw clenches for a split second before a small, reassuring smile pulls at my lips and I gently caress her hair.  
“Don’t say such things, little dove. Your old man is here somewhere along with your brother.” patting her on the head I once again look around, barely stopping myself from tripping over a woman that’s sitting on the ground, trying to squeeze the water out of her soaked clothes.  
“There they are!” suddenly exclaims Tauriel and quickly darts forward, making way so that we can pass.  
Upon hearing the elven woman’s words both girls turn their heads towards the general direction she pointed at, in hopes of spotting their father. And there he is, still soaking wet and with a worried expression on his face as he moves between the small groups of people in a frantic pace, most probably asking if someone has seen his daughters.  
“Da! DA!” both girls cry out.  
Putting Tilda down, she runs directly into her father’s awaiting arms, squeezing him tightly and burring her small face in the crook of his neck. Sigrid clutches at his hand and places her forehead on his shoulder in sign of gratitude and happiness for his successful return. The happiness that appears on the bowman’s face has me smiling wide, a warm feeling settling deep in me by the achievement of the smallest of task – to make sure the family stays whole. Above his children’s heads, Bard’s eyes search around until they stop on me and the emotion in them makes my breath get stuck in my throat; in his green pools I see an immense amount of gratitude and warmth that make me blush slightly – no one has ever looked at me as if he wants to hug the life out of me. Nevertheless I nod his way and look around for my group.  
Giving the family some privacy I turn to the dwarves that are once again returning to the shore. Trailing behind them I help with pushing the boat back into the water and setting their stuff in it. While myself, Fili and Bofur try to get the old craft to stay still and not sway dangerously, Kili walks away with Tauriel. Glancing at them over my shoulder, I can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corners of my mouth at the obvious air of adoration and attraction that surrounds them. Even for a blind man it will be clear that they are in love; deeply infatuated with the other, despite the difference in kin… and height.  
A pang in my chest appears as I watch this rather unusual exchange of words of kindness. The love that sways in the air around them, the concern for the other and the badly masked unwillingness to part make a sad sigh skip past my lips. Being the one to distance myself from the outer world after the disastrous event of Dale’s fall, I forgot what it was like to feel attraction towards someone else. Now, as I watch an elf and a dwarf fondly squeezing their hands for a brief second, I can’t help but feel a little bit jealous. Deep down, I never liked the self-imposed solitude of my forest; not after I had to change my title and residence after the catastrophe so long ago that chased me away from the lands of men and elves. Probably that’s the reason why now I yearn to be caressed the way only lovers can; with utter amour. ‘No one would touch the ice. It’s cold and distant.’ I remind myself what a man once told me upon realising that I was drastically different from any other women he had ever courted. With a sad shake of my head I turn my back to the love-birds and resume my work with the boat.   
“Isis, I believe this belongs to you.” Bofur suddenly speaks and after rummaging through his pockets, pulls out my flute. “Bilbo gave it to me before he left with the others. Said to call you once I get the chance.”  
Smiling at the dwarf I take the instrument in my hand and look at it for a second before returning it to Bofur.  
“Something tells me you’ll need my aid soon, Master Bofur, so keep it in close reach and don’t hesitate to use it, does the need call for my assistance.”   
The startled expression and the exchanged looks with Fili make a small laugh skip past my lips before I arch an eyebrow their way.  
“You ain’t coming?” Fili’s disapproval is evident in the way his eyebrows furrow and the sadness that appears in his crystal clear blue eyes.  
“I’m afraid not, Master Fili. Your journey to reclaim your home is over and so is the need of my presence. You no longer need my protection, or my magic, so I’ll offer my services to the people of Laketown, as they seem to be in need of all the help they can get.”  
After thinking through what I said, and finding it a good enough excuse, the blond man nods his head.  
“Know you shall be missed dearly. By all of us.” the reminder of Throin’s burning gaze startles me for a second, before I mask a smile on my face.  
“And I shall forever remember our shared adventure, as wild and dangerous as it was.” without further ado I step to the side and allow the newly appeared Kili to get into the boat.  
The youngest seems rather haggard and crestfallen as the ginger-haired beauty departs hurriedly with Legolas, who seems to be popping out of thin air whenever he wishes, on the back of a white horse.  
“Your paths will cross again, Master Kili, I can bet on it.” the sudden need to cheer him up seems to have caught both of us off-guard, but he says nothing.  
Only when I begin to push the boat further into the water does the young prince notice my things being absent amongst theirs.  
“Are you not coming?”   
“Unfortunately I have no place amongst the halls of Erebor.” with a sad smile and another push, the boat moves away, with three rather sad looking dwarves in it.  
“Cheer up! You are going back home!” I shout and give them my brightest smile, barely containing my voice from breaking.  
The trio cheers loudly before grabbing the paddles and rowing away. For a few more seconds I stay in the cold water and look after them, until someone shouts my name. Turning around, I notice Sigrid, hand in hand with Tilda, waiting for me on the shore. Soon Bard and Bain come as well, making the family full.  
“Will they be fine?” Bain’s the first to speak as he eyes the disappearing boat.   
“I’m most certain they’ll reach the Mountain in one piece.” smiling and giving the horizon one last glance, I look at Bard.  
Despite still drenched in cold water and most probably tired, the bowman seems filled with energy and determination.   
“Are you heading towards Dale?” my voice has returned to its usual neutral state.  
“Aye. Will you be accompanying us?” despite his tone not faltering, I can see the anticipation in his eyes.  
“As long as I can be of any service, I shall.” the mildness seems to be returning quickly and taking over the ever present nonchalance in me, making me look more approachable.  
This unexpected change, despite not being unwelcome, is rather strange, as for as long as I can remember my demeanour of coldness and inaccessibility has kept everyone away – few were those who knew who and what I was and dared come near. Now, with the surfacing of these rather defrosting emotions, I can’t help but feel out of my element.   
So when Bard smiles at me encouragingly, I try as hard as possible not to be awkward and simply nod.   
“Let us take our leave then. The way to Dale will be long.” 

With natural flare Bard leads the people to their new home, not bothered by their constant whining or the small rest stops the group has to make in order for the slower ones to catch up. Composed and easy to approach, it’s normal that the people entrusted him with the responsibility to be their new leader; he listens to what they have to say, offers his opinion and most of all – knows his place. Despite being in charge now, he not even once benefits in any way from his power in a way that may be found offensive by his fellow citizens.   
While helping the elderly and children in the very back of the of the group, many entrust me with different stories, most of which about Bard – how he married young to a kind woman, who gave birth to three wonderful children but unfortunately a disease took her too soon after Tilda came to this world, leaving him on his own. Many told me how kind and helping the fisherman is, how he never sends the needing back, how patient he is with the children that constantly chase around, often than less through his boat, making it sway. As the stories go on and on, I realise that I have come to know Bard fairly better than in the morning.  
It is late afternoon by the time we finally reach the remains of Dale. Once again the Bowman is quick to order people around, everyone having something to do. And while most of the women are given the task to deal out food to the children and elderly, I and a few more maidens decide to tend to the wounded. An old church whose roof still stands is the place we find refuge in for the night, away from the blizzard outside. Since it had been designed to have two separate wards, we take all the wounded to the bottom hall where in privacy we can tend to them as much as we can.   
Hours tickle by, in which I sooth wounds, bandage, stich and occasionally splint broken hands or legs. Unfortunately I have little to no medical resources with which to work, so we have to improvise for most of the time. Many kids come and go, some barely scratched, others with heavier wounds or sprains, yet I find myself tending them with joy, bathing in the way their eyes sparkle with glee once the burning pain disappears under my cold fingers, my magic tending to the irritated flesh as much as possible.  
For once in my life I find all the collected and accumulated knowledge of healing and herbs useful and despite my magic being strictly revolving around ice, with general abilities in controlling separately water and air, it’s safe to say healing is not coming as a gift from the Mother, but rather as a self-imposed devotion.   
“Miss!” a voice squeaks from behind, making me turn around and see a small boy, no more than four, clutching his hand close to his chest, a pained expression on his face.  
“How can I help you, little one?” smiling at him in a reassuring way, I kneel to his level so that I don’t intimidate him with my height.  
“My hand. It hurts.” his voice is so tiny and filled with fright that it makes my heart melt.  
“May I look at it?” showing uncharacteristic tenderness towards everyone today, I amaze myself with still having strength to actually think and talk properly.  
The boy extends his right hand and I study the bluish bruise on the wrist that now seems to be acquiring a purple hue. My eyebrows meet in a low frown before a reassuring smile brightens up my face.  
“What’s your name, little one?” I ask after indicating for him to take a sit at a nearby piece of fallen stone.  
“Albert.” the softly whispered name almost gets sucked away by the ever-present murmur in the makeshift infirmary.  
“It’s a pleasure, Albert. I’m Isis.”  
Picking him up gently and putting him to sit on the large stone I once again take a look at the sprained wrist. ‘This will be my tenth today at least.’ a small smile plays on my lips as I take a wet cloth and gently tap at the irritated flesh.  
“Does it sting?” despite seeing no evident wound, I want to make sure there’s no damage to the skin.  
“No. But it hurts. And burns.” his confession makes me nod knowingly before gently placing my cold fingers over the skin.  
The child visibly shivers, making me pull away. Humming lowly in assurance, I once again place my fingers over the skin.  
“Now Albert, I must ask something really important of you. Will you be able to assist me?” his brown eyes go big before a rather shy nod makes me pat his shoulder.  
“I need you to close your eyes and think of nice things; things that have always made you feel happy. Can you do that for me?”   
Once again a small nod follows, but it’s noticeable he doesn’t get why I am asking such foolish- sounding thing of him.  
“Will it help heal my hand?”  
“Yes.”  
Without any hesitation Albert closes his eyes, almost squeezes them actually, and concentrates for some time, before his childish face moulds into an expression of delight and harmony. Making sure he’s fully immersed into his fantasizes I channel my powers and snowflakes flutter between my fingers for some time before swirling and moulding into a thin blanket. Making sure my little patient’s eyes are closed, I gently place my fingers over the irritated skin and with small circular motions rub in the magical layer of embrocation. The reaction is immediate – a soft sigh of relief leaves the child and his eyes flutter open.  
“Am I healed?” his squeaky voice makes me want to ruffle his dirty-blonde hair.  
“Try it.” I urge him on and take a step back, putting back on the leather gloves I took off a few hours ago, and hide away my pale and icy fingers.  
Cautiously twisting his small wrist to the side, with an amazed squeal Albert jumps down and throws himself at me, his hands wrapping around my middle in a rather sloppy, but still appreciated embrace.  
“Thank you!” he breathes excitedly before running back off to his parents.  
As I watch him disappear between the sleeping bodies of the other villagers, I can’t help but smile at how productive this day has been.

*`*`*

An hour later, after making sure my help is no longer needed among the wounded, I head to where Bard and the children will be spending the night. The coldness has seized the streets, voiding them of any form of life, and snowflakes fall generously from the sky as a cool night breeze sweeps them around. The muffled sound of voices comes from the few still standing buildings in which the people of Laketown have found shelter; the shadows, casted by the burning fires dance exotically, as if the human speech is their music. The snow is quickly piling up, turning the otherwise ghostly appearance of Dale into a picture taken out of a fairy tale. The walk to the house is rather short and soon I push the old wooded door open, the warmth of the room engulfing me into a loving embrace. Sigrid looks up from her book, the Holly Mother only knows where she dug that out from, with a rather sleepy expression on her soft face. Greeting me with a soft nod, she points at a bundle near the fire, mouthing the word ‘food’ before once again burring her nose back into the dusty pages. Without even spearing another glance at the food, knowing that our stocks are rather scarce, I head for the fireplace, where I can finally warm myself up a little bit. ‘How tired must I be so that the coldness affects me?’ I wonder while rubbing my hands against one another to quicken their warming up. ‘And how long since I slept? Or ate? Holly cricket, when was the last time I took a bath?’ fighting against the urge to sniff myself I stand up and steal a glance around the room. Near Sigrid, wrapped in furs is Tilda, sleeping soundlessly. Her hair, now looking dark brown, freely falls around her chubby child’s face, graced by a peaceful smile. Right next to her is Bain, who seems to be drifting off, yet fighting against the sleep, probably wishing to wait for his father’s return. With soundless steps I near one of the walls and leave my stuff there – the staff and the sword’s weight finally disappears from my tense shoulders, allowing me easier respiration. I don’t even have to look around to know that Tilda, the little dove, is still wrapped in my cloak, so without disturbing the silence of the room, I stand up and head for the door.  
“Where are you going?” Sigrid’s voice catches up with me, making me halt and look over my shoulder, only to see a disapproving scold on her youthful face. “It’s freezing cold outside and you need to feed and rest, not to mention warm up!”  
“Your worry is rather unnecessary, Sigrid.” smiling her way I proceed to leave, “I’ll be on the roof, scouting. And don’t worry – I’ll make sure it won’t crumble over your heads.” with a playful wink I return back to the coldness of the night.  
Since the buildings are rather old and unstable, and I do not trust neither my body, which seems to be at its limits, nor the aged stones, instead of climbing the old-fashioned way, I use a small amount of my magic and with a good jump end up on the slightly sloping roof. Thankfully nothing happens and with a sigh I find a suitable place, near one of the terraces of the second floor and sit down, pulling my legs up to my chest and resting my chin on them. While my body stays still and my muscles relaxed, my eyes dart in all directions, searching for a foe that may be lurking behind the hill. The moon’s full body illuminates the ground with a soft milky light, making some objects acquire sharper edges, while others get blurred. A sudden whiff pushes my hair to the side and the still falling snowflakes kiss my skin before melting away, making a small shudder runs down my spine. A howl in the distance snaps me out of my daze and my head turns that way. Thankfully I don’t see anything worth my worry, so with a sigh I once again allow my sporadic thoughts to take over. Surprisingly enough, Thorin’s image appears and a melancholic feeling swirls in me at what he has come to be in my absence. ‘The gold’s curse has affected him in a way I thought I’d never have to witness again.’ a flash of memories, dating back to the time before Smaug chased away the dwarves from Erebor has my heart clenching painfully, the bitter reminder of my failed attempt to help soon to follow. As the memory washes over my senses, my heart skips a beat before starting to beat rapidly against my ribcage.  
It was a spontaneous decision to start traveling and leave my homelands. Passing through all the places I wanted to see while being locked away in a world covered in eternal frost, I was influenced by the impression everything surrounding this new world made – of harmony, happiness and tranquillity; the forests were greener than I had imagined, the wind was warm and the soil was fertile. So when I came to Dale, desiring to see the legendary Erebor, home of the Durin folk, I didn’t pass up the opportunity to sightsee and talk with the people who lived here – most of them were nice and welcoming, something the dwarves didn’t live up to be, unfortunately. Thrór was the King under the Mountain back then and he and his son, Thráin II weren’t pleased to see a foreigner in their lands. Upon our first encounter the crazy look in the old king’s eyes didn’t stay unnoticed by me, as well as the rage that almost made him throw me out at the mention of wishing to steal a glimpse at their legendary treasury. Either way, I was allowed a tour in their underground home, admiring the way the huge structure stood unshakable under the weight of the mountain. Back then I first met Thorin, who, as it turned out, didn’t remember our brief encounter, mostly due to the fact that he was too self-absorbed back then and thought poorly of anyone who was not his kin.   
Eventually I decided to settle for a while in Dale and study the way people lived here, their culture and habits; back in those happy days, the world was a merry place. Then Smaug came, and fire started raining over us, unforgiving and demolishing. For a first time in eons ice clashed with fire in a fierce battle that lasted long and drained me of all my powers, yet the beast stayed untouched. Girion, Lord of Dale back then, whose descendant is Bard, shot the black arrows at the drake, with only one coming to hit its target, leaving an open wound. What the brave man needed back then was another clear shot, yet Smaug deprived him of the chance as he destroyed the tower Girion had climbed up on and burying me under the ruins in the process. Howls of pain, wailing and screams echoed in the starless night as people and dwarves found their death. It was the next morning that I finally managed to get out of the trap the beast had put me into, and upon pushing aside the last block what awaited me was a dreadful sight I’d never forget – all around me there were bodies sprawled, fires burning and ruins. From the once great city of Dale now there was only stones and ash.   
I knew I had failed not only myself, but also the people of Dale who had trusted me to protect them, to give them some time to run away. The guilt of depriving them of what they cherished most – life, followed me throughout the ages, making me fall into a severe form of depression. After changing my title from Evocatrix to Ice Witch, giving it that rather repellent sound that would keep everyone away, I hid into what was known back then as the Wolf forest, where ironically I came to know Fenrir, the only wolf to reside there.   
Back then I foolishly believed time would heal my wounds, that it would chase away the horrific memories and allow me to sink into oblivion of that day, but I was mistaken – the nightmares hunted me for years to come and for a while my own powers were out of control. That’s when I decided to study the herbs; it was all in favour of keeping my mind occupied and sane, and my eyes trained. Gradually I lost the insane spark that threatened to turn into hysteria and my self-control bettered to the point where my powers returned to me. In the end all it took was time. But not time to forget or distance myself, but to accept it.   
Now, as I sit with my feet crossed under me and my eyes staring in the distance, I realise that what I had been seeking all this time was forgiveness; someone to come to me and tell me I had done whatever was in my strength to help. And, ironically, that someone was an elven warrior, who managed to see through my thick layers of self-hatred, ice and years’ worth of accumulated masking. Tauriel, back at the platform, said the words I never knew I needed to hear in order for the burden to fall off my shoulders – I had helped many survive the desolation and gave them the opportunity to lead their lives somewhere else. ‘The wins outweigh the losses…’   
Someone clearing their throat makes me blink a couple of times and snap out of my trance. My eyelashes flutter over my watered eyes, as tears have been streaming down my face this whole time. Bringing my hand up to my cheek and wiping the traces away, I look at the balcony, only to see Bard sitting casually on the stone railing and gazing up at the sky, giving me some time to collect myself. After composing my rather shaken soul, I once again glance his way, only to find him already staring. His green eyes come out almost black while his black hair, now illuminated by the soft touch of the moon, appears to have some pearly-white streaks in it.   
“Is it a habit of yours to keep away from people, or you just don’t like my kids?” by his tone I know he’s joking, but that doesn’t leave me any less shocked.  
“Mother of moons, Bard! I love your kids, how could you say that?” he smiles charmingly my way before deciding to step on the railing and climb next to me.  
“Do you mind some company?” he asks me after noticing my questioningly raised eyebrow and the strange way I stare at him.  
“No, but…” trailing off, I try to fight off a small laugh at the thought of the fisherman climbing up a distance worth twice his height, without a particularly safe fall either. “No offence, but I’d prefer if you come up here my way – the last thing I want to do is stitch you back together after you slip and fall.”  
The man just shakes his head in a disbelieving manner, before his laugh echoes in the silence of the night.  
“You might be right, I’m afraid. It is rather unsteady…”   
Before he gets to finish his sentence a staircase of ice appears, leading directly to the roof. When he looks up at me, startled at the fast reaction and the precision with which I created something as this out of thin air, I can’t help but give him one of my shy smiles before looking away, feeling exposed under his intense gaze.   
In no time he climbs up and takes a seat near me, crossing his feet and staring up in the sky. A comfortable silence settles as we both study the welkin while snowflakes fall down gracefully.   
“Can I ask you something Bard?” my voice is barely above whisper and for a second I wonder whether or not he heard me.  
“Of course.” his reply is soft, yet with the slightest twinkle of worry.  
Without tearing my eyes from the horizon, I take a deep breath and wonder why am I even doing this – reopening old wounds for both of us in order to sate my ego. ‘Because it’s not my ego that’s being hurt, it’s my consciousness.’ I remind myself before finally looking at the bowman.  
“Your ancestors used to live here, in Dale, right?”  
He nods and thinks for a second.  
“Aye, until Smaug destroyed the place. Then they moved with the other survivors to the lake’s shore and established Laketown there.” the question as to why I’m talking about this stays unsaid, as he patiently waits for me to continue.  
“Were they content?” my voice has dropped to a soft breath, almost impossible to catch.  
“They were alive, unlike many that didn’t manage to escape, if that’s what you ask.”   
Turning my head away in order to hide the emotions that threaten to overpower me, I once again pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my hands around them, my body recoiled and tense, as screams from a time long gone echo in the back of my head as a vicious reminder that not everyone was lucky enough to escape the fire hell.   
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why does this interest you?” the fact that his voice sounds the slightest bit tense, as if he’s walking on eggshells makes something in me cringle.  
‘Yet another man who has a ‘why’ that I can’t answer without making him run away.’ Gulping and taking a deep breath, I allow silence to settle once more, while wondering if it would be worth to share my story. ‘He’ll either freak out, or accept it. It’s not like he hasn’t seen more abnormal stuff. Not to mention I started this.’  
“Because I needed to know that all my efforts weren’t in vain.” the words roll off my tongue unknowingly, the sincerity in my voice startling me for a second before with a small resigned sigh I tilt my head up towards the sky, studying its pattern.  
“I… I’m afraid I can’t catch what you are implying.” sounding honestly confused, I finally look at Bard, my eyes holding that sad and melancholic look I keep only for myself.  
“Have you heard of the tale of the Evocatrix?”   
His eyebrows furrow for a moment and his eyes acquire a distanced look as he seems to be searching through his memory. When a sudden spark appears, I know he has recalled what I asked for and nods.  
“The story says she lived in Dale and when Smaug appeared battled him, until a tower fell over her and buried her in the ruin. Her bravery is rather popular and cherished among the children, since she was a lone woman who stood up against a fire-breathing dragon, willingly risking her life to save those of the people of Dale. She’s been considered almost a saint amongst the survivors, who managed to escape thanks to her. It’s a rather old tale, but some parents are still telling it to their kids in honour of her memory. Forgive me for saying this, but I still see no connection to your earlier question.”   
A small smile has appeared on my face while he was telling the story with a rather dreamy expression on his face, as if remembering and reliving those gloriously described days. I’m baffled that people have recounted the events in a rather softer and more hero-like way, almost idolising me, which sounds terrifying in my ears, as the last thing I thought they would make out of my failure back then is that it was a glorious sacrifice. The clash between my version and his is rather hilarious, yet at the same time sad, as many facts are left out. Either way I nod in appreciation and once again look at the horizon.  
“It’s admirable how the ones who made it out of here distorted the facts a little in order for it to sound as if she was a heroin, who actually had a plan, when she wasn’t. She was scared out of her mind, weak and knew that she’d never defeat the creature; that not only Dale, but also Erebor would fall. And yet people didn’t grow to hate her for that failure, but rather praised her for what she did. Why is that? Why no one mentioned the many lives she didn’t manage to save? The fact that she failed to even warn the dwarves in time?” the sorrow in my shaky voice makes it come out like a choked whisper and I stop, allowing myself to compose once again.  
“Because she couldn’t have saved everyone – it’s not only impossible to do, no matter an Evocatrix or a mere human, but also ridiculous for the survivors to hate her. Wasn’t it for her, they’d have been all dead. And let’s not forget children like stories about heroes.” the last remark makes me steal a glance at the bowman’s face, only to see humour. ‘He thinks it’s all made up! How didn’t he figure it out by now? He has seen what I can do, for God’s sake!’ the answer comes to me seconds later, in a form of a small whisper in the back of my mind. ‘He can’t fathom someone can live that long, that’s why. He has no evidence or reason to believe the woman from the story and myself are the same person.’  
“You think it’s made up?” I ask, testing the waters.  
Bard thinks for a second, scratching unconsciously his chin, covered in a few days old beard. After a while he shrugs and looks at me, obviously expecting me to share my thoughts.  
“It sounds a little bit like a fairy tale, idolising a brave woman who had the courage to stand up and fight while the others were running away. I’m not saying she was ordinary, for was she, she’d have been dead just as fast as everybody else. But an Evocatrix? It sounds… rather made up, I admit.” by his tone I know he has conflicted feelings about this, yet has accepted the most explicable version, something for which I do not blame him – I, myself, wouldn’t have believed a word of that, weren’t I the person the tail speaks about.   
“And I still don’t get your point.” the apologetic look in his green eyes makes me smile, as for a second I allow myself to get lost in their depth.   
A cold whiff of air once again ruffles my hair, and I notice Bard’s body growing tense, a reminder that unlike me, he actually feels the drop in temperature clearly. With a single wave of my hand the wind disappears and the snowflakes scarce. The bewildered look he gives me makes a low, throaty laugh rumble in the back of my throat.  
“Don’t you find it strange I possess powers, resembling those of the woman from the tale?” my voice is soft and warm, a small laughter still distinguishable.  
Bard’s frown, as he seems rather perplexed at what I may be implying makes a giggle come from me before I take off one of my gloves and move my fingers, creating an arrow out of ice. Once ready, I examine it for a second and hand it over to him.   
“It has been a heavy burden to carry, knowing that many lost their lives due to that failure, but I’m happy that those who managed to make it out hadn’t spoken badly of me.”  
Bard’s head snaps my way, as he had been studying the detailed ice arrow in his hand, a miniature copy of the black arrow with which Girion injured Smaug back in the days. Now his eyes are filled with shock as his minds seems to have finally wrapped around the idea I offered.  
“You-You are the woman from that day?” when I nod, his eyebrows furrow and suddenly my gut clenches in worry of the vile words that may leave his mouth.   
Yet he stays silent, his gaze fixed on the small ice figure in his hand and by the look on his face, I know he’s deep in thought. And the more he spaces out, the worse I feel for ever telling him in the first place. ‘What was I thinking? Who, in their rightful mind, would accept something like this light-heartedly.’   
The sudden hail of the wind makes my now completely loose hair fly to the side, and a shiver runs down my spine, making my teeth rattle. This seems to snap the dragon slayer from his thoughts and he looks at me for a second with a blank look. And just like that, while one second he’s completely emotionless, in the next a smile appears on his face.   
“I thought the Ice Witch didn’t feel the cold?” it’s a tease, as at the same time he takes off his own coat and throws it around my shoulders before I get the chance to protest.  
The fact that he asks me the same question Thorin did a while ago both startles and makes me chuckle. Smiling in gratitude I pull the furs closer around me, secretly absorbing Bard’s scent.   
“When I’m at my limit, my powers weaken and make me vulnerable to climatic conditions, like everyone else.”   
“It may sound harsh, but it’s nice to know that you can actually feel the cold once in a while. It’s a bit weird when you walk around so thinly clad while we are covered in a few layers of fur and still feel the chilliness seeping though.”  
My laugh echoes in the quietness of the night as the rather funny image of myself being able to walk around in my undergarment while the others are shivering under piles of clothes, pops in my head.  
“You are right – it’s nice to react normal once in a while.” the smile is still plastered on my face as our eyes meet briefly.  
Once again one of those strange, unknown and slightly bothersome feelings forms in the pits of my stomach, provoked by the way Bard gazes at me with warmth and amusement that no one ever aimed my way in such gentle and caring manner. Feeling a blush appearing on my cheeks I hastily stand up, with the intention to finally head inside, but unfortunately what I didn’t take into consideration is that I’m too tired to do such sudden movements. So, naturally my head spins and I sway on my feet, feeling lightheaded and slightly sick. Thankfully two strong arms wrap themselves around my middle and steady me, my head coming to rest on Bard’s broad chest. Yet even in the state of current inadequacy, I feel the warmth that radiates from him and the way he shivers under the merciless cold wind of the night. Forging the last remains of my powers, I sooth down the weather before looking up at his emerald eyes.  
“Sorry for that.” I mumble, suddenly feeling so much more tired than seconds ago, my mind tripping on the edge of consciousness.   
“We must get you inside.” the worry in his voice makes me blink a few times, trying to chase away the sleep.   
Unfortunately it’s easier said than done. My eyelids are heavy and all my senses begin to shut down until the only thing I can do is gaze up at two beautiful green pools of warmth and worry. And, as if someone blew my candle, everything drowns in darkness.


	8. Broaden your horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are worried - I am still in the process of building up the relationship between Bard and Isis. It will be comical, if not awfully mindless, to match them up as soon as they meet, so I hope you'll show some consideration towards the fact that when a centuries old woman meets a 30-something years old man, things won't progress as rapidly as usual.

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, overlooking Dale and the Misty Mountain, a feeling of dread making me clench and unclench my fists. A whiff from behind and a small growl make me turn to the side slightly. A huge white beast comes to stand next to me, his eyes trained on the horizon. Noticing the way his ears stand straight on his head, a deep frown graces my features.  
“I am dreaming, am I not?” my thoughts waver like whispers carried by the wind.  
“Yes. We need to talk.” the deep husky voice of Fenrir resonates around us, as if bouncing off invisible walls.   
“Something’s off. I can feel it in my bones.”  
Another whiff of air, cold and cutting, pushes past us. In a blink of an eye the scenery changes; the land is darkened by creatures of all kinds. The battle horns and the muffled yells reach us from what seems like a different world. My eyes widen as I take in the ferocity of the battle.  
“What’s the meaning of this!?” my voice is barely a whisper as my eyes stay glued the horrific bloodshed ahead.  
The gravel silence that follows sends cold shivers running up and down my spine, the feeling of anxiousness making me gulp nervously.  
“Battle is in the air, Isis. You must summon the remains of your strength and prepare.” Fenrir’ rather sad demeanour makes me steal a glance his way.  
“How come you summoned me here, Fenrir? You do not have that power.”  
“I had favours to collect.”  
“Will you come and fight with me?” the abruptly spoken question makes the great Dire wolf tense up, his tail waving slowly behind him.  
“We shall see what comes out of this.” his smug reply is sucked in by a sudden whiff of the wind that seems to push my conscious self over the edge.

The sun’s soft rays shine through the blanket of fluffy clouds, shedding their dazzling hue over the piles of snow and chasing away the veil of sleep. Still dizzy after the weird dream, I can’t recall when I stand up, wash and kindle the fire in order to warm some water for the tea. In the middle of pouring the hot liquid in small cups, Bard’s soft groan fills the still silent room. Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I give him a shy smile and a nod, before resuming my activity of carefully filling the suspiciously looking wooden mug, which may, or may not have been a residence of a huge colony of bacteria before I boiled it a few minutes ago. Using my ice to cool it down, my ears keenly follow each and every step the bargeman takes.   
When he finally comes to sit next to me, I hand him a cup of steaming tea and some bread, trying not to meet his gaze. ‘Last night I placed such a burden on his shoulders that he must have lost his trust in me.’ Yet it proves too hard to resist the temptation, so I glance his way. He seems to be lost in his own thoughts, yet obviously senses my gaze. When his green eyes meet mine, I fight the instinct to look away and proceed pretending last night didn’t happen. Instead of that, I walk straight against my nature and face Bard, indicating him that I’d like to speak with him.  
“What worries you, Isis?” his voice is calm and soft, hinting nothing of his thoughts.  
“I wanted to talk to you about-” I’m interrupted by the loud yawn that leaves Tilda’s small mouth.  
Both of us look over our shoulders, bewildered looks on our faces due to the bear-like sound that erupted from the usually quiet and shy girl. Obviously not having heard us talking and probably thinking she was the first up, her eyes widen with horror upon spotting our mutual amazement. My laughter, deep and cheerful, fills the silence as I barely manage to stop the small tears that are threating to appear in my eyes. Soon Bard joins me and Tilda’s left with nothing else but to pout before also adding her childlike giggle. It’s no wonder Bain’s groan of protest and Sigrid’s irritated ‘hmph’ follow seconds later, as we seem to have woken them up.  
“Raise and shine, doves.” I manage to say before another fit of laugher takes over, which I desperately try to conceal, only for it to end up in a quite unladylike snort.   
It takes all of us some time to put off the laughter as more funny noises come from Tilda, who soon challenged her brother to a game of who can make the weirdest animal personification. It was thanks to Sigrid who eventually scolded them half-heartedly while fighting her own laughter that we finally sat down and ate, a small chortle of laughter erupting from someone every once in a while. When ready, myself and Bard leave as I have more patients that need treating and he has to check the night’s watch. Walking side by side in a comfortable silence, I try to push away the pestering worry from last night’s conversation, as a small voice in the back of my head keeps on repeating how stupid and utterly irresponsible it was of me to share such information with someone who I barely know. Alfrid’s sudden appearance snaps me out of my moody thoughts and I watch the exchange between the two males only in favour of keeping my brain occupied.  
“Morning, Alfrid.” Bard greets without even stopping next to the man who not so subtly rubs the sleep off of his face, indicating that his night’s watch has been nothing more than a nap under the stars. “What news from the night watch?”  
Scurrying right next to Bard, and bowing his head in a submissive manner, Alfrid ignores me completely in favour of sucking up to his new Master, who by the way never voiced his agreement to take that title. Either way, this gives me the chance to look from aside how he interacts with the Bowman; Alfid’s small and black, mouse-like eyes are at the verge of penetrating holes in the other man’s face, as his gaze stays glued to him, the sick desire to serve lingering like oil over water. Supressing a shudder at the comparison that ironically comes in use after sneaking a glance at the hair of the servant of the ex-Master of Laketown, which is so matted and greasy, that the original mouse-brown colour now looks like silt, makes my gag reflex suddenly reaper after a rather long departure.   
“All quiet, Sire. Not much to report. Nothing gets past me.” his perky attitude makes me snort and roll my eyes, as the words ‘nobody’s insane enough’ trip on the edge of my tongue.  
Throwing me a nasty look behind Bard’s back, I narrow my eyes in return, my purple irises making him cross himself in a strange way and mutter something in the lines of a ‘devil’s servant’ and ‘brain-washing witch’.  
Waving away his petty attitude, I catch up with Bard, who suddenly comes to an abrupt halt. Stepping to the side in time to prevent a collision with his back, I fight another snort at the sight in front of me, and thankfully manage to keep my face calculatedly neutral.  
“Except an army of Elves, it would seem.” the male mutters and glances my way before taking the few steps down and coming to stand before the rows of tall soldiers, one the same as the other in their appearance and battle armour.   
Once close enough, they move simultaneously to the side, splitting so that he could walk past and go wherever he must be. Watching as the path behind him closes, the Elves’ tall build creating an impenetrable wall of gold and silver, I can’t help but suddenly think of my dream. ‘Is there really danger lurking close by? Or is it the gold in that Mountain that Thranduil’s after?’ deciding against meddling in something that’s not my business at this point, I resume my walk towards the infirmary, where, as predicted, many are already waiting for some medical attention. 

*`*`*  
Hours later I feel a tug in the back of my head, prominent, familiar, yet at the same time irritatingly distant. Frowning as I wipe my hands off my pants and put back on the leather gloves, the sensation of a déjà vu is heavy in the air around me. It’s futile to even look around, as the humongous space in which I spend the better part of the day is deadly silent, save for the occasional maid scurrying around, handing food and water to those who aren’t able to move at this point. Cold whiffs of wind chase one another until they collide with me, a barely noticeable whisper reaching my ears and almost making me jolt.  
“Isis!” the voice, despite small and worryingly tired, is familiar enough to get me to exit in hurry the medical centre and run down the streets, passing by and ignoring many villagers who give me weird looks.  
The pull of the flute navigates me around the campus until I stop in the middle of an empty street. Pulling my hood off and allowing the chilly night’s air to toss around the auburn locks that managed to escape the braid, I know I’m at the right place, yet there’s no one in sigh. Frowning and giving the road a once over, I glimpse as a sudden movement in the shadows before a familiar figure peeks from over an old barrel.   
“Master Baggings!” I hush and rush to him, pulling him in a hug. “I’m so happy to see you safe and sound! But what are you doing here?”  
“I know it’s probably not right to ask you for such a favour, but I must speak with Gandalf and the King of the Elves.” his worried voice quickly pushes away the usual pleasantries and I straighten up my shoulder before nodding.  
There’s no need to ask him what’s wrong – I have a vague concept of what exactly drove the Hobbit away from the dwarves’ fortress. The rumble that followed after the fall of the statues in front of the entrance and successfully blocked it was enough to make me leave the wounded in the care of the other girls earlier today and find a high spot from which to observe. By some luck, I also noticed the luxurious marquee that had been erected earlier today and that most probably housed no other but the Elven king himself.   
“Brief me in while we get there.” I urge and head down the dark streets, following a path that’ll save us the worry of at least some of the guards crossing our way.  
“Well… Thorin’s not himself ever since he entered Erebor. It’s like a whole new person that looks like him but it’s not him. He’s greedy, mistrustful, suspicious of everyone and is in a current foul-mood mode. I… I just couldn’t allow him to wage a war he cannot win.” despite Bilbo’s considerately low voice, I tense up at the mentioning of war.  
“Battle? What do you mean?” sneaking a brief glance at him and then behind us, making sure we are not followed by someone ill-minded fella, I continue squeezing my way through the ruins and narrow streets.  
“He doesn’t want to part with the gold. Not even a coin. And not to mention that the Arkenstone is still not within his grasp…” I catch something off in his voice and stop in my track, raising an eyebrow his way.  
Blushing and fumbling with his cloak, I notice the unease with which Bilbo, the anxious, yet mostly calm Hobbit, now seems as if a huge secret weights upon his shoulders. It takes nothing more than a tug at the connection I have with the flute to know what exactly bothers him. My eyes widen for a split second before a small mischievous smile stretches my lips.  
“You are keeping it out of his reach on purpose.” it’s a statement rather than a question, yet the Hobbit nods, obviously feeling ashamed of what he’s done.  
“What you did is probably for the best, Bilbo. That gold is cursed. It’s no wonder Thorin’s lost his rightful mind due to it, but not even for a second do you lose faith in him!”  
Nodding in agreement, and obviously relaxing at having shared with someone what bothers him, he continues telling me of how he escaped and what he plans on doing now. As I listen and watch for any potential threat, my earlier dream once again resurfaces, its ugly face almost mocking me with its hidden message from the back of my mind. Frowning when another connection tugs, I successfully push it to the side, knowing that calling forward what my ice soldiers collected from today’s scouting will currently be nothing more than an obstacle which will cost us precious time. So hurrying ahead after leaving the Hobbit in the shadows, I see where the huge golden tent is positioned and manage to pick at three different male voices. ‘Bard, Thranduil and Gandalf. If that doesn’t spell trouble, I don’t know what would.’ retreating back to the safety of the shadows I kneel down and crack my neck.   
“It’s heavily guarded. But I know how we can enter. It will cause same havoc, but by the time they realise what’s happening, we will be in the tent.”  
“You have done more than enough, Isis. I don’t want you to get in trouble now as well. I can-” Bilbo obviously has something else in mind, and the image of the movement in the shadows, how one second there was nothing there and in the next he appears flashes in the back of my head, yet I’m determined to not be exiled of the action, and therefore help Bilbo get in.  
“I’d rather enjoy throwing those elves in frenzy. Their apparent sophistication rubs me in the wrong way anyway. They may have brought supplies and medication, but their noses are held a hitch higher than acceptable according to me.” giving a small mischievous smile, I offer my hand to the Hobbit who reluctantly takes it, obviously knowing it’s pointless to try and talk me out of it.   
“Hug me tight and don’t look down.” I whisper as I pull him closer to me.  
“Wh-what?” he quivers, but it’s too late – we are already moving fast ahead, a few feet over the city.  
A huge ice slide materialises as I move, allowing me to skate in speed that makes me almost impossible to spot. It’s no wonder I move without a problem right over the heads on the soldiers and with a sharp twist and a series of spins stop in front of the entrance of the tent.   
The reaction is immediate as the soldiers finally notice me and lunge forward. Dropping Bilbo in and pulling down the flapping end of the tent, I snicker like a naughty child as yells in elfish from the other end echo in the night, as despite their best attempts they can neither near nor enter the marquee.   
“You do know how to make a spectacular entrance, dear.” a mild voice comes from behind and I finally give the three men my attention.  
While Gandalf seems pleased and relieved to see me, both Bard and Thranduil are perplexed whether to be amazed by my impudence or enraged by it. Eventually the younger male fights off a small smile, masking it with a light frown of discontent while Thranduil’s eyebrows knit in a dark scold before his face clears away, as if wiped with a magical handkerchief.   
“You know I enjoy messing with those prunes. No offence.” I quickly flash a sugary-coated smile at the Elven King before nearing the old Wizard.  
He seems as if he has been through hell and back; his clothes are worn off, he’s covered in dirt and the usual air of tranquillity and balance around him is demeaned to a pitiful excuse of pride-filled exterior. Knowing that right now is not the time to ask him, as he won’t answer anyway, I simply place a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of support. And that’s when the feeling of darkness creeps under the skin of my arm, making the flesh, despite hidden under the clothes, change colour. Quickly stepping back and retracting my hand, I can’t help the widening of my eyes and the gritting sound of my teeth.   
“What-” I begin, my voice sounding harsh and at the same time scarred, but he stops me.  
“Nothing worth your worry, dear, as all is well now.” like usual his voice comes out soothing, reassuring, but this time I see right through this small charade.  
I may have had the fortune to be born after the Necromancer was defeated, but even in the years after that, and while I grew up in the other end of the world, I could still sense the chaotic vibes that were oozing through the air whenever there was a cataclysm happening somewhere. His magic, as dark as it could possibly get, has that thick, suffocating and at the same time toxically light touch to it. Now, as I take in Gandalf’s appearance for a second time I spot something off. He doesn’t look like a man who had a long journey getting here. He looks like a prisoner who finally managed to escape. Allowing that to sink in, along with the thought about who, rather than what, has managed to keep the Grey Wizard captive, I take a sit, allowing my body to slump over the soft material without an ounce of grace.  
“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” Thranduil’s slick voice quickly snaps me out of my thoughts and I’m about to answer him, but Bilbo takes him up without any problem, his voice calm and void of its usual uncertainty.  
Since the young burglar won’t need my assistance with the Kings for now, I allow my eyes to close and reach out towards the connection with the ice soldiers I send to scout, having a feeling that soon I’ll be grateful for the support of the chair.  
Whenever I look though the ice figures’ eyes, all the objects and sceneries hold that unnatural, glassy and refracted edge to them, as if I’m staring through the pieces of a huge shattered mirror, yet without the whole image being fragmented. Since they were created to fight, and not serve as an on-place see-through portals, their retinas were never polished to the point where their ‘vision’ would be flawless.   
Now, as I allow my mind to drift hundreds of miles away, I know whatever I’ll be shown won’t be to my liking. The whole day, despite the work, I had a bad feeling in my gut after the disturbing dream Fenrir offered me; that’s the main reason why I send three of my soldiers to check what’s happening not far away from here. It was a pointless hope to cling to that it will all be fine, that it was just a misinterpretation on my part. Yet now, as my spiritual power adjusts into this new vessel, I know nothing pleasant will meet my eye. Gandalf’s capture only proves that the Necromancer is if not returned completely, then at the very borders of this realm, ready to breech though the walls that have been erected to keep him out.  
The scenery is misshaped to the point where I feel disorientated, but having done this more than a dozen times, despite being unpleasant to the highest degree, I command my limbs, now made of ice, to move until I have full control over this body. Refocusing my sight is a matter of concentration and practise, but once perfected, it takes seconds. The picture clears enough so that I manage to see to an acceptable level. All three of my warriors are hiding behind rocks, their tall and easy to spot bodies now standing out like a sore thumb in this wilderness. Commanding the vessel to move, I climb up the rocks slowly, testing each and every surface until eventually I reach the top. Peeking over the edge, I bless all the Valars that this body cannot emit sounds like squeaks, groans, shouts or yells as at the scenery that unfolds before me I’d have the very least gasped quite prominently or even worse, shrieked. There are hordes and hordes of Orcs as far as the eye can see. The ground, despite being rather colourless even without them, now seems black and acquires the illusion of quick sands – shifting constantly and highly dangerous. Carefully scanning as far as I can, I spot Wargs as huge as horses perched on strategically high places, so that if someone nears, they’ll be able to sniff him out. Thankfully, ice, even the magical one the soldiers are made off, has no scent or taste so at least I’m in no direct danger. Further back amongst the troops of Orcs, chained and forcibly made to lie down, are also some of those weird mammoth-like creatures with attached war machines to them. The same machines that breach walls, make stone turn into dust and leave nothing but ruin in their wake. Yet even they don’t manage to frighten me as much as the unbelievable amount of Orcs that’s gathered in this valley. Once again I send a silent prayer of gratitude that the warriors weren’t created with the basic human senses – apart from being deprived of normal vocal response, they also lack the wonders of hearing and sense of smell, for both of which I’m happy. The sheer sight of all those rotting corpses, drenched in blood, mud and whatnot makes me wanna gag, and the ability to be able to actually smell them would have knocked me straight out. Giving another criticising scan, I notice they are extremely heavily armed, with weapons that vary from an interpretation of a sword to a sick mishap of a machete and a mace. Not being able to hear their foul speech, the blood-freezing clatter of their blades, or the way they tear the meat straight out of their still living victims, even if it’s one of their own kin, is a defect I never thought I’d be grateful for. Deciding I have had enough, I slowly crawl back down the steep slope and return to my other warriors, who never stopped looking around and making sure nothing would jump out and attack. Once safely grounded between them, I allow my consciousness to tremble slightly, before it returns back to my real body.   
Usually when I possess one of my figures for a short amount of time, it comes with minor aftermaths – slight headache, stiff muscles, dizziness and sometimes sleepiness. Now, as I allow my mind to take its previous place, a migraine finds its way into the back of my skull, bringing a dull pulsating and overbearingly irritating pain along with it and nesting it somewhere were it’ll bug me throughout the rest of the day. With a low groan I raise a hand and pinch the bridge of my nose. Carefully sitting back up and allowing my head to rest against the back of the chair, my ears catch the end of Thranduil’s what could have only been one rather long monologue.  
“… These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir. Where are they?” the smugness in his soft tone makes me want to growl.  
Instead of bringing forward one pretty nasty side of mine, I try to open my eyes and tell them what I saw, until a hand on my shoulder stops me. Looking up, I see Gandalf’s stormy eyes now slightly narrowed at the King, who obviously has way too high opinion of himself.   
“Unfortunately they are closer than you think.” to my utter amazement, my voice comes out as a hoarse whisper, my dry throat making me cough.   
Rubbing at my neck I’m about to speak, when the tent’s flipping end that was supposed to be impossible to open is sliced through and a bunch of Elves enter, their weapons trained on me. The room falls into an eerie silence as my still rather sluggish brain tries to process what’s happening. As reality slips past my fingers, the dread of knowing what will happen and, even worse, not being able to warn them of the danger, I begin to claw at the blanket of darkness that’s quickly circling me. But all is in vain – having spent too much energy in maintaining a strong enough bond to see clearly while in another vessel, now my powers have yet once again reached a critical minimum. As the sound around me fades away and my body goes numb, I can only hope that Gandalf will manage to talk them out of attacking Erebor and rather combine their powers and prepare for war. One last thought that manages to sneak between the cracks of the darkness is how ridiculous it is that what takes for two proud Kings to reach an agreement will be a common enemy that will threaten to wipe them all out.


	9. Fight for what you have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I hope you like this new chapter and please feel free to review on it!   
> Now enjoy!

It’s cold and wet, the stench of mould and rotten cheese doing its job at jolting me back to consciousness. Blinking my eyes open, I chase away the nausea and the still present headache, while trying to get my body to cooperate and at least stand up. It takes more or less self-provocation to get the stiff muscles to move and flex, and while doing that, my eyes scan the room. ‘A cell. A forlorn cell to be precise.’ frowning at the thought of having been here for way to long, as the rays of the sun are currently trying to blind me, I manage to push myself to a sitting position. Yet even from this new angle things don’t acquire a more pleasant appearance, yet the quite opposite. The cell, despite still serving its purpose at keeping me hidden, has long ago outlived its durability at keeping someone in. One of the walls is halfway collapsed and there’s a wild rose bush that has taken residence all over it, most definitely bringing along some of its slimy friends to seek shade and coolness here. Shuddering at the very thought of snakes anywhere near my unconscious body, I once again glimpse at the sky outside through the huge hole. By the look of it, lunch had come and gone not so long ago. ‘Which means I’ve been here for way longer than I’d have enjoyed…’ Closing my eyes and trying to work out what happened before I passed out, the memories of what I saw while in the soldier’s body make my blood run cold.   
“I’ll bleach myself and become a harlot if those pig-headed, self-absorbed Kings followed Gandalf’s advice.” muttering under my breath while tilting my head from side to side in order to ease the tension in my neck, I fight the newly appeared nausea.  
Thick silence settles as I close my eyes and concentrate on the connection I have with my warriors. Since the figures stayed in my vest, which I foolishly left back in the house, my last hope is that the three scouts have returned. Under different circumstances, I’d have fetched my staff and found my way out, ready to kick the ass of whoever thought it smart to lock me here, but that’s not an option; both my staff and sword are gone and if something or someone comes to attack, I’ll have to rely on my face-to-face combat skills, which are lacking when my body is as rigid as a rock, or my small dagger, which despite being useful in cutting ropes is slightly inconvenient when matched for a sword of some sorts.   
Thankfully by the time I stand up, shake off the feeling of nausea and the pestering irritation, and climb out of this pitiful excuse of a cell, my soldiers emerge from over the hill. Running with inhuman speed the three ice figures bear the unmistakable signs of combat. Immediately the blood drains from my face and as if a sound barrier has just been lifted, the distant rumble of metal clashing with metal, the battle yells of men and Orcs, and the dying wails of both kin reach me. As a gasp leaves my lips at the realisation that the battle has already started, a huge furry white thing sprints from over the hill and heads our way. In seconds Fenrir’s massive body comes to a halt and in a newly acquired gesture he pushes his muzzle against my hand, seeking some sort of confirmation that I’m here. Absentmindedly running my icy figures through his thick fur, I notice the dark blotches that stand out harshly against the sleekness of his coat.   
“Brief me in.” I whisper and move towards the sound of battle, the soldiers right behind me.  
“The fight began right after the elves and humans attacked the dwarves. The men retreated to Dale to protect the women and children, while-”   
“We must help them.” running my hand over his head in apology for interrupting him, I glance over my shoulder at the soldiers.   
“Follow the pull of the staff and bring it alongside the sword and the other soldiers to me immediately!” the ice soldier I nodded at jabs his head in a manner resembling a nod and runs off.  
“It’s a lot worse than it looks, Isis. It’s not safe.” taken aback by the sudden show of concern, I finally give Fenrir a more studying look.  
True to my initial observations he has ripped open not one or two throats while on his way here, yet more details appear as I take in his shaggy appearance. His right ear has a small piece missing from the tip, there’s a nasty gash beginning from under his left eye and running down his neck end ending abruptly over his right shoulder; while his movements are as graceful as ever, I notice the slight limp that wasn’t present the last time we met.  
“Why are you here, Fenrir?” my voice is soft as my hand runs through his fur once again, enjoying the soothing feeling it provides.  
The silence worries me, as his usually witty green eyes now hold a sad tint to them. Skipping the question past his ears, he nods at the currently sieged Dale. Following his gaze, it takes a simple intake for me to get shoved back into reality as the cries for help and the howls of pain reach even this remote place. ‘Remote place?’ frowning and giving my surrounding once-over, a sudden realisation strikes me. I have not been kept here as punishment for breaking into the royal tent, but as a mean of protection. Due to its remoteness and lack of any life whatsoever, this small abandoned cell hosted me not as a prison, but as a safe house.   
“There was a spell around the perimeter, wasn’t there? It prevented you from finding me?”  
“Indeed, there must have been because neither I, nor your puppets managed to find you as soon as the battle began.”  
A fierce roar cuts through my next words, making them die out in my throat.   
“We move. Now.” with that I nod at my two remaining soldiers.  
They step forward, awaiting my next command. I would have told them to follow my lead and clear the way, when the distinguishable pull of the flute makes me halt. Turning to the general direction the connection seems to be coming from I eye the huge ice caps of the mountain.   
“You two – follow the pull of the flute and aid Master Baggings and the other dwarves in any way possible.” as if on cue they run towards the destination, their huge jumps and strides melting away the distance in no time.  
“You shouldn’t have send them off. Who’ll protect you now?” snarling at my seemingly irresponsible decision, I smirk at the Dire wolf, the small mischievous glint in my violet eyes reflecting in his.  
“I intent to kick and cut my way through those Orcs, Fenrir. And you, my dear ally, will not only be so generous to take me there, but also have my back.” cocking an eyebrow as if challenging him to refuse me, the wolf growls his discontent with me ordering him around, yet lies down.  
Jumping on his back and trying not to touch any wounds or cuts, I take a fistful of his fur, flatten myself against his back and exhale. And just like that, without a warning, Fenrir dashes forward, obviously still enjoying my yelps and groans.

*`*`*

It’s a melee wherever you look at. Golden armours splashed with black blood glimmer in the afternoon sun. Men get tackled down by Wargs. Orcs and Trolls slash their way around the streets, successfully breeching any defence the poor people of Laketown may have offered. Blood is flowing freely down the streets, its unusual colour due to the mixture of the last life forces of many different creatures making it appear like rivers of tar. In this chaotic mess of bodies, swords and animals of all kinds, I spot Thranduil gracefully slashing at Orcs as if they are merely straw dolls and leaving a path of corpses in his way. His long blonde-white hair flows behind him like a liquefied silver whip, catching and reflecting the rays of the sun. I’d have admired his battle skills for a few more seconds, wasn’t it for the Orc that successfully manages to breach his defence and jump at him from behind. Moments before his jagged blade reaches the armour of the Elven King, who notices the movement seconds too late, a huge icicle, thicker than the trunk of an oak tree emerges from the ground and impales the creature on its sharp end, throwing it back. Thranduil’s bright blue eyes immediately find me in the crowd. A seconds passes between us, his obvious impossibility to believe I actually just saved him having a hard time fighting the courtesy to at least nod in gratitude.   
“We must move.” Fenrir grumbles next to me, his irritation at the lack of dynamics painfully evident by the movement of his shoulder blades.  
Sensing that the short pause has ended, Thranduil gives me a quick nod, so fast and small that I almost miss it, and continues slaying the enemy.   
“I must find Bard and the kids.” outshouting the cacophony I look at Fenrir, whose teeth are bared in a snarl.   
Spinning immediately and summoning an ice dagger, it’s only my not so impressive height that saves me from a quite unfortunate collision with what can only be described as a battle axe of some sorts. The huge icicle protrudes from the back of the Orc, its impeccably clear surface now stained in thick black blood.   
I waste no time looking around, but run ahead, slaying creatures as I go. The misfortune to run into three Wargs without Fenrir behind me is short because as soon as the huge dogs bounce at me, a ball of white fur meets them in mid-air with a fierce growl, followed by a gigantic figure. Seconds later the corpses of the Wargs lay in the feet of the ice soldier I send ahead to get my stuff. The Dire wolf snarls at the killed attackers, obviously not entirely convinced they no longer pose a threat. ‘Battle blood is getting to him.’ calling at him while fastening the strap over my chest and pulling out from the hoisters both my sword and staff I manage to gain the wolf’s attention. There’s something primal lingering in his eyes, something that’s more animal than human. Yet as quickly as it appeared, it evaporates, leaving the old familiar witty gaze staring back at me with a mixture of boredom and excitement.   
Seconds later all eight of my ice soldiers are proudly standing in the street, taking care of all alleged threat with their big swords. ‘I hope the other two are doing equally as well.’  
“We must-” my words are cut by a shrieking, heart-freezing and quite familiar yell. “Tilda!”  
The youngest of the children’s name leaves my lips as a horrified whisper as visions of what may be about to hurt her flash in front of my eyes as I run down the street, led simply by instinct. Halfway down one steep alley that crosses a main road, I notice Sigrid, Tilda and Bain facing one humongous Troll whose mace is lifted high and ready to strike. Yet before the unthinkable happens something collides with its side, sending the creature to the ground with a pained grunt. Bard’s sword finishes the job in a simple slice before he runs to his children, hugging them to his side. A happy smile pushes its way on my face as I breathe a sigh of relief at the outcome of the situation. Yet my happiness in short-lived as a few Orcs and their Wargs come from another street further up the road, obviously drawn by the sound of the fallen Troll, and now marking their new prey.   
It doesn’t take a word for all of us to spring out of the alley and intercept the Wargs that lunged forward first. Fenrir’s jaws click around the throat of the one on the left while the one on the right gets hit by a huge chunk of wall, tossed by a soldier. The middle one, who obviously mistook my small frame as a sign of weakness, has the misfortune to tumble down in a huge ice block after the tip of my staff scrapes him. The Orcs come next, and this time I draw my sword and swing right in time to block a deadly blow aimed for the head. Unfortunately the creature has more physical force than me, so it manages to make me take a step back. Gritting my teeth and frowning at the implication this makes, I loosen my hold of the sword at once, making the attacker lose his solid ground and lean dangerous forward, his balanced destroyed. Ducking and spinning under his hand, I shove my sword down his back and twist. With a last chortled by the blood cry, the Orc falls down face-first in a heap of meat. A grumble sounds next to me and I look at Fenrir, whose eyes are trained somewhere else. Following his gaze, I see Bard looking quite intrigued by the scene he just witness. On the other hand, his children hold the look of petrified lambs to the point where even Tilda stays exceptionally quiet and simply observes the movement of the Dire wolf with unhidden fright.   
“You are scaring them, Fenrir!” I nudge the white beast, making him snarl.  
Shaking my head, I quickly give the soldiers orders to secure the perimeter and then go to Bard.   
“I can’t believe you allowed them to lock me in a cell!” is the first thing that leaves my mouth as I come close enough.  
Awe-struck and completely speechless, the bowman gives me an apologetic smile.   
“The Wizard said it was for your own good.” the wariness in him melts away and the previous dark expression takes over his features, the battle making itself known once again by a series of fierce, heart-wrenching howls and screams.   
“Of course he did.” shaking my head and taking a note to speak to the Gandalf once this is all over, I look at Tilda who is still clutching her big sister’s dress for dear life.  
“It’s all going to be fine, little dove. You’ll be taken somewhere safe.”  
Her eyes twinkle with hardly stopped tears before she unexpectedly flings herself at me, wrapping her small hands around my middle and sobbing against my stomach. Running my hand over her head in a soothing manner, I look at Bard, who is contemplating my words. The raised in question eyebrow confirms my thoughts and I look at Fenrir. Sensing my eyes on him, the great wolf turns his face our way and gives us his legendary frown, which makes his sharp canines, now red from the blood, stand out. Nodding my head his way, he reluctantly comes closer, obviously irritated by how Bard’s grip over the sword tightens.   
“They must be taken to a safe place. Will the cell be good enough?”  
The only indication I get that he even heard me is the wag of his tail, as his green eyes seem to be pinned on the Bowman. When a small growl vibrates in the back of his throat, a clear challenge or a threat, I snap.  
“Fenrir! I asked you a damn question, so stop staring at Bard and answer me!”  
Another growls follows, this time aimed at me, but I pay no notice to it, as I have grown rather accustomed to his bad moods. A minute later, wasted in a staring contest, he shakes his head, making small drops of blood fly around, and wags his tail in annoyance.  
“Aye, the cell will do as long as they keep quiet.”   
Aware of what my next words will be, he shakes his head and narrows his eyes at me.  
“And I’m not talking them there, Ice Witch, forget it. Those pups are none of my concern.”   
“Don’t be a child, Fenrir! They are just kids, they won’t hurt you.” barely containing my smirk, I watch as the wolf’s ears perk up, his vertical irises thinning to such an extent that they almost disappear. Puffing a gust of wind my way, obviously greatly displeased and offended by my words, he chatters his teeth.  
“Oh, don’t be a fuss. Two of the ice soldiers will go with you and will stay there. I’m not keeping you away from the bloodshed, worry not.”  
Still not happy, he wags his wail behind him in manner that resembles the way rattle snakes move their tails when agitated. Yet instead of snapping once again, he lies on the ground, grumpy and obviously displeased to a great extent.  
“You cannot be serious!” Bard’s exclamation makes me look at him.  
His face has lost some of its colour due to the realisation that I actually do intend to leave his kids in the care of a huge white wolf splattered in blood and two ice figures.   
“That’s the only way Bard. Neither I, nor you can fight, knowing that the children may be in danger. That’s the only safe place within reach.”  
I try to keep my voice calm and reasonable, promptly ignoring the background noise of the battle. It will be ridiculous to say I expect him to happily hand over the kids to a wolf that easily can swallow whole his youngest without choking. Yet the retaliation he’s about to give me will only waste precious minutes, which will lead to the younglings staying here, where it’s everything but safe.  
“I know you do not like the idea, and I understand the lack of trust in Fenrir, so I won’t ask you to believe him.” his eyes clash with mine, and I see all the worry, doubt and anxiety that are currently fighting in him.   
Bard wants his kids to be away from here, somewhere safe and guarded so that he wouldn’t have to worry for their safety while fighting. Yet the thought of the wolf left alone with them rings too many bells in the back of his head.   
“Trust me, Bard. That’s all I’m asking for.” the words come as a soft and inviting whisper, making the bargeman grit his teeth in defeat.  
In a hassle he tells them to be safe, advises Bain to look after his sisters no matter what happens to him, and them hands them over to me. I help Tilda climb in the arms of one of the ice soldiers and Sigrit in the other. When safely tucked away and pressed against the cold chests of the figures I look at Fenrir who is still eyeing Bard in a distrusting way.  
“Stop this, Last one.” I tell him in the Old language, hoping that he’ll show some understanding. “I cannot entrust them in the hands of the soldiers as they do not realise how precious they are to me. You do. Please, Fenrir. I need you to take them to safety.”   
With a nod he lowers his head on his paws, his green discs looking at me in a strange, almost sad manner, as I urge Bain to go and sit on his back. Yet the boy is reluctant to the point where he’s frozen to the spot by the sheer sight of the beast.  
“Worry not, Bain. Fenrir will not let any harm befall you.” as his widened with horror eyes turn to me, I add, “Nor will he drop you. I have ridden him a fair amount of times and not even once has he allowed me to even slip from his back.”  
Squeezing his shoulder in a reassuring manner, the young boy, no man, finally nears the Great Dire wolf with his shoulders square and his head held high. As soon as he’s safely positioned over his broad back, Fenrir stands up not so slowly, making Bain grab his fur harder in attempt to stay in place.  
“Hold tight, pup. The ride there will be bumpy.” the rumbling sound of the wolf’s voice almost gets swallowed by the yelling of the Orcs that comes from the upper end of the street.  
“Go! When it all ends we’ll come for you!”   
With that they run off the way we arrived. Pulling my sword from its hoist, I grip Bard’s shoulder in a manner I only hope will give him some hope and reassurance. To my surprise he takes my hand into his and squeezes it, his eyes still trained on the place his kids disappeared to.  
“They’ll be fine, Bard. I’m sure of it.”  
He finally looks at me. The worry and stress seem to have added additional years to his face, as now he seems older, broken and exhausted to the point where any movement may cause pain. By some strange urge I lift our still linked hands to my face and place the back of his hand against my cheek in an attempt to show him that I’m here, with him, and will never allow any of them to get hurt. After the initial shock clears from his face, a small smile of appreciation takes its place and he pulls my hand up to his mouth, placing a small kiss on the back of it, involuntarily igniting a flame that wasn’t there a few seconds ago and successfully making my skin prickle. ‘What is this man doing to me?’

“I need you to promise me something.” he pants after pulling his sword from the body of one of the Orcs.   
Ducking under a machete-like sword, I pierce the Troll in the side, my blade slicing through the flesh with a sickening sound and sending blood pouring everywhere.   
“Yes?” stepping to the side and missing the claws of a Warg, I quickly summon an icicle that emerges from the stone ground and pierces the creature right in the chest, leaving it to hang a few feet above the ground like a terrifying flag.  
“If something happens to me…” he stops as his sword clashes against the axe of another Orc who, despite his small build, seems to be quite lithe and is proving to be a hard match for the already tiring Bowman.   
The cold blizzard that suddenly cuts through the air makes the hideous creature lose concentration and then balance. It’s a minor mistake that cost him his life seconds later as with a single thrust of his sword, Bard kills it.  
“Nothing’s going to happen to you Bard!” I outshout the yell of the Orc that has now lunged at me with the clear intention to grab and probably snap me in two.  
Thankfully the bigger they are the more stupid they tend to be, so with ease I tumble its heavy bulk over and cut open its belly. The stench is so overpowering that my eyes water and I step back, the desire to throw up getting stronger by the second.   
A hand wraps itself around my middle and steadies me against a broad chest as I take the few spear minutes to regain my breath and bearings.  
“I need to know that if I die someone will look after my kids, Isis. I cannot bear the thought of them being on their own.” the way his voice cracks at the end, as if he already knows he won’t make it out alive has me turning around and facing him.  
True to my guess, his eyes hold that sad accepted truce with fate. The fate of a soon to be dead man. A father leaving his children behind. Thrusting my sword in the ground next to us, I take off my gloves and finally reveal the insides of my hands. Yet he has no time to study them, nor the small fading white lines, as I cup his face and make him look at me. Holding his gaze in a steady and reassuring manner, I fight all the emotions battling to surface and rather keep my voice steady.  
“If you find your death amongst the streets of Dale, then it will be my honour to take care of Tilda, Bain and Sigrid. I’ll do all in my might to provide for them and to make them feel loved.”  
Making small circles over his stubble with my fingers and sending small waves of coolness down his heated flesh, I smile genuinely at his expression – a man who cannot believe his ears.  
“But you are not dying today Bard. Not as long as I have a say in it. And let’s admit it, I will always have the last word.”  
Giving him a last gentle stoke, I pull my hands away as the desire to lean forward slightly more, to run my fingers higher through his hair and burry them there washes over me and makes me gasp as if someone knocked the air out of my lungs. My only hope is that he doesn’t see all the feelings spinning in my eyes, all the warmth and affection I have grown to have for him in the short span of time we have known each other. Taking two steps back so that I’m a hand’s reach away, I quickly fasten up my gloves once again, leaving the upper part of my hand exposed. Stealing a glance at him from underneath my eyelashes, I can’t help the small smirk that tugs at my lips at his new expression – slightly shocked, but in a good way, and finally void of that dying resignation. With a single fluid movement I pull my sword from the soil and swing it in my hand, testing its weight, mostly by habit rather than the need to know if it had gained a few pounds while it stood perched there.   
“I say we finish this and go see if the kids have put ribbons in Fenrir’s fur.” the joke does its job and Bard flashes a smile my way.  
Fighting our way around Dale, helping whoever we can and killing as many enemies as possible, I continuously tap into the connections with the soldiers I send away – the ones with the kids and the ones with Bilbo. And while those in the old tumbledown cell seem to be facing no threat, the other pair is having a dynamic time by what I can sense. If my hands weren’t already full, I’d have went to aid the dwarves, but the very thought of leaving Bard here on his own sends cold shivers down my spine and every cell in my body rebels against the sheer proposal. So the only thing I do is hope that whatever is happening at the top of the mountain will end well for our team. 

*`*`*

The streets are packed with corpses of various kinds – one are clad in rugs and the flesh is black, covered in blisters; others have villager clothes on, mostly furs. And mixed between them in the mocking glimmer of the golden armour of the fallen elven warriors. Rivers of blood run down the road, various hues appearing under the setting rays of the sun. The day takes its last breath under the dying cries of the mortally wounded, the sound of the falling of buildings and the movement of the masses. The battle finally comes to an end. A victorious one. ‘Yet at what cost?’ looking around, my eyes cannot find a single space on the ground that’s not covered in the remains of a being that used to be alive not so long ago. And while no pity reaches me at the sight of the Orcs, Wargs and Trolls, the dead bodies of humans, both young and old, men and women, and Elves, forever frozen in their young bodies, never to grow old and die makes something in me twist painfully.  
Memories flash in front of my eyes of a time long gone. A massacre that occurred on these same streets. Bodies like these ones were littering the stone floor and the same rivers of red made it hard to walk. The difference now is that there’re no flames reaching for the sky, no reek of burned flesh, crisped bones or malodorous dragon breath in the air. Yet in a way it’s the same – the heavy and suffocating smell of blood and gore presses down on those who had the fortune to outlive the bodies we must burry. ‘No more bloodshed.’ I chant and close my eyes, feeling tears forming in the corners of my eyes. It’s a risk to intake deeply, yet the heaviness placed on me leaves no air in my lungs, making me feel like a fish thrown on shore and left to flop about until she dies.   
“Isis!” a soft voice in my ear snaps me out of my thoughts and I look up only to be met with two pools of brown-green worry. “Are you okay?”  
The sincere worry in Bard’s voice evokes the usual reaction – all my walls rise up immediately, all emotions are pushed to the back and I give him a small smile. A small smile that cracks with a soft sob. The turmoil in me leaves my emotional condition unstable and all the mental barriers shake.   
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” the low whispers leave a feeling like I’m mostly trying to convince myself rather than him.  
“Is it the memories of that day?” his soft-spoken question and the earnest sympathy and understanding make something in me stir.  
No one in my whole existence showed understanding of my grief – even those few who knew its origin. They pitied me, tried to make me forget, but never showed support, never told me it’s going to be okay. And I taught myself to raise my barriers whenever the occasion calls for it – I have no need for their pity, their regret, or worse – their fear.   
Yet why am I now finding myself unable to erect those walls that have kept me distanced from the others for so many years? Why is that this time I want to let myself grieve, cry, and mourn? What does he do that the other don’t? What makes my consciousness seek his comfort since it never even got close to gaining it from those around me? ‘Because he cares enough to stay and fight.’ a small voice in the back of my head whisper in a shy voice, yet the words bounce off the walls of my mind, resonating like a uncontrollable echo.   
“Yes. It’s the same thing I saw when… when I crawled from under the ruins. And it’s not. ” air is still in shortage for my burning lungs and I find myself wanting to flee, to turn tail and just run.  
Sensing this, Bard cautiously grips my shoulder, stirring my fluttering attention back to him instead of my inner beast.  
“This time we won, Isis. The defeated the enemy.” cupping my face gently, I inwardly lean against him, finding solace and comfort in the feeling of his warm hand against my icy skin.  
“You are freezing. Are you cold?”   
I can’t help the small chuckle that skips past me at the sound of these words. It takes a second to sort my emotions and shove them to the side, alongside the strange feelings the Bargeman awakens in me, to pounder later; instead I blink my eyes open and look up at him.  
Violet clashes with now intense green. And more emotions, warmth, welcoming, awakening and tempting wash over me in small waves. ‘Fight for what you have. Or may have.’ the same small voice whispers again and this time I don’t scrutinises its judgement. This time I allow it to lead me forward.  
“We fought and we won.”   
Bard nods slightly, our eyes still locked together in a dance of wills. Unconsciously one of my hands ends up on his chest, the feeling of warmth radiating from his body luring me like the song of a siren.  
“Let’s go get the children.”


	10. My origin, your secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are not entirely mad with me... Here is a litlle 'sorry I'm such an awful person' gift, in hopes of earning back your favour. Honestly, I have left this story to lag behind for some time and maybe it's high time I once again allow it to run ahead. Any thoughts? Would you like more development between Bard and Isis or I should put this journey to its well-deserved end soon?   
> Enjoy now! And review! I'm curious to know what you think!

Bard declined the offer of the soldiers carrying us to the cell, claiming that his pride would not allow a huge figure to hurl him over its shoulder and trot away. The very image made me giggle until eventually the small sounds grew into a full-blown laughter. He played hurt and offended for some time, but eventually cracked and also began laughing. It was beyond strange that minutes after a battle, in which many lost their lives and even more got injured, we find something even remotely funny. But it’s inevitable for the human brain to seek something to distance itself with when Death and pain brood close by; laugher as being the complete opposite often sneaks in and makes you doubt your sanity.   
Either way by the time we reach the cell, which turns out to be a lot further in the outskirts than I recall, both of us have composed and walk in comfortable silence. As soon as the ruins get outlined on the background of the now completely inky horizon, Ice soldiers jump from their hiding places and near us. Keeping a respectful distance from Bard, they come to stand next to me, awaiting orders. Moments later a huge white blotch emerges from the shadows on top of the hill. Fenrir’s tail is held high in alert and his ears are pricked, but as soon as he realises it’s us, his body loses that rigidness and he sits down.   
For the next few minutes I leave Bard with the kids and instead take a sit next to the Great Dire wolf. The silence that settles between us is as comfortable as it can get, knowing that we just lived through yet another horrendous battle. My violet eyes more than often stray towards the small group a few feet away, and despite my best attempts to tell myself it’s concern for their health that makes my chest spasm painfully, truth is that longing for something even remotely similar has me loosing focus on the surrounding scenery.   
Catching myself glimpsing at Bard for the tenth time, I mentally curse for my boldness and lack of a decent stealth, before my attention shifts to the wolf. His huge head rests on his paws as he seems to be either asleep or at least collecting the last remains of his power.  
As if sensing my eyes on him, he prays open one eye and the strikingly green iris zeros on me, the vertical pupil thinning out. All of a sudden his body goes rigid, as if a severe spasm of pain shoots through his trained muscles, before easing down, ears flat against his head once again. Raising an eyebrow his way I intend to ask him what has him all jumpy, but the wolf beats me to it.  
“I’m tired.”  
The simplicity of this revelation strikes me as not only exceptionally odd, as pigs will fly before he admits any signs of fatigue, but also highly alarming, for the same reason. Dire wolves were known for their almost inexhaustible amount of energy – they could go days without eating, resting or even sleeping. No one has been heard of seeing a Great wolf being anywhere near tired – it has always been a matter of pride and honour not to show lassitude. Until now, it seems.  
“You said it as if you’re dying.” the humour, despite slightly dark, makes me chuckle and shake my head.  
The fact that a snarky remark doesn’t follow sends my rather lagging senses overboard. My head snaps his way in worrying speed and my eyes widen drastically, even painfully. The Great White Beast is lying on the ground as if he wishes nothing more but to sink into it, become one with the grass and soil. Ears flapped back, tail tucked close and head laid low, Fenrir resembles a killed animal that found solace in Death. When his eye peeks at me once again, I note that the usual green, so iridescent and illuminating, is now dulled, holding a grey hue to it. The pupil has returned to its normal thin size, but the unnaturally of it still leaves uneasiness in me.  
“This is the part where you tell me to go burry my head in the ground and search for my brain, as I may have dropped it somewhere.” helpfully adding, I bet against all hope he’ll say something crappy that’ll make me snap at him.  
“There’s no point in making this harder than it already is, Isis.” if the whole ‘I’m so tired with your childish behaviour’ tone didn’t set my wheels spinning, then the fact that he used my name definitely gets my full attention.  
The resignation sets quickly. Too fast even. I want to say something, to rebut, to even shout and accuse him of being the worst liar, of making the most inappropriate jokes at times like these. The words are bubbling in the back of my throat and would have come seeping out if it wasn’t for the way he looks at me. With warmth and a peaceful acceptance of his fate. Bile rises in my mouth and sooner rather than later I find myself choking back tears. Closing my eyes and breathing in deeply, I successfully chase back the sorrow that sweeps me off of my feet. Instead of fretting, I look at the wolf, this time with different, more analysing eyes. The wounds on his face and ear are still bleeding, tinting the fur in a grotesque red hue. The gash that runs from his muzzle down his front most probably is also seeping open, as the ground underneath him holds a darker shade of brown, as if something has been absorbed into it. The sickening feeling in the pits of my stomach worsens when I take notice of the wounds on his back – some are mere scratched, barely grazed skin; others are holes from which a wicked weapon, poisoned most definitely, has been dug out. There are numerous cuts and slashes down his legs and sides, making me wonder not only how blind I have been not to notice this when I first came, but also how much blood he has lost. Many question come forward, but I swallow them. ‘What point asking how long he has been fighting before he came to me? Or what befall him when he arrived here? When did he arrive?’ shaking my head and chasing away those worries, my eyes glue to the horizon.  
“How long until…” I choke on the word ‘die’ as I had my fill of death for a few lives ahead already. I want no more, yet it’s been served to my feet once again.   
“Not much. But enough.” his once growly voice has now died out to a rasp. A dying rasp.  
Knowing that my face has paled and the air around me has chilled, I fight back any further emotion wreckage, thus a weather disturbance I may involuntarily cause. It’s bad enough we are overlooking a valley covered in corpses, no need to add more dramatic tune to it. A small whimper sneaks past my lips, as if to refute my false claim of being composed.  
“Don’t dare go all teary on me, Ice Witch. I still have it in me to bite your head off if you do.” the harsh comment makes a small laugh bubble in me, but it dies out too soon, choked by the lump in my throat.  
“Can I do something to ease your pain?” what’s left of my confident voice is a pitiful excuse of a shaky whisper.  
“Nay. When time comes, I want to leave this cursed world with as much pride and honour as possible.”  
It’s a rare gift to find amusement in your own demise, but Fenrir does it. Even in a moment like this, after a day like this one, he has it in him to throw some sparks in the otherwise out-of-this-world conversation.   
A few more seconds pass in silence as the wind plays with the locks of my auburn hair, tossing them around and carrying away the wretched scent of death and gore. The sky is already acquiring an inky tint, the sun and its warmth long gone. Another whiff of cool air sprees past us, picking up dead leaves and small specks of dust and carrying them far away.   
I feel numb to the core. The realisation that Fenrir’s going to die and I can’t do anything about it shackles me to the ground and brings back awful memories from the past about a town engulfed in flames and people screaming at the top of their lungs; then further back to the village I grew up into, the same that a few months after my flee got raided and flattened with the ground.  
“I have a story to tell, witch, so would you be so kind and grace me with your faltering attention?” Quickly pulling me out of my own miniature version of hell, Fenrir moves his bulk with unease.  
Nodding in confirmation, I glance over my shoulder and check on Bard and his family. By some luck, or having felt my distress, his head rises in the same moment and our eyes meet. Obviously noting my paleness and the distressed look on my face, awfully masked by the small quivering smile, his eyebrow furrow in worry. About to stand up and come near, I shake my head slightly and nod towards the city, urging him to take the kids and go back. His emerald jewels glimmer and flash, as he obviously has no desire to leave me behind, yet the silent plea, carried by the wind to his keen ears has him clenching his jaw in resignation. With a stiff nod and a last glance at the white beast next to me, the bowman and his children stand up and walk down the hill. My eyes dart to the ice soldiers close by, the same two that had stayed here while the battle raged in Dale, and sending the command through the link we share, they quickly stride after the departing family. ‘Family.’ the word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.   
“You look exactly like her you know. Save for the eyes – hers were warm amber.” Fenrir’s voice draws my attention back to him.  
Instead of penetrating awareness, I find him in a state of ease that has his body morphing into a bulk of snow sprayed with red paint rather than an athletic killer machine. It seems that in the span of a few seconds the once great hunter has degraded to an animal that got caught in a dead-trap. My heart makes a leap and then clenches with a painful tug.  
“Who?”  
“Your mother, Doriallin.” the mildness with which he speaks the name I haven’t heard in centuries doesn’t slip past me, neither does the implication that somewhere back in time there was a period in which he not only saw my mother, but obviously knew her.  
Tensing at this new bit of information, my whole being recoils – I want to hear none of it. My mother died giving birth to me, alone in a cottage somewhere in Rohan. There was no loving husband to cradle me or sooth her in her last hours. No friend to ease her dying wheezes. She died with me in her arms, an infant that repulsed people the second they looked at it. The sole image of that part of my past has my insides clenching and bile once again rises to my throat. Wanting nothing more but to open my mouth and tell him off, ask him to speak of something else, or better yet – not speak at all, I somehow opt for none. My tinted lips stay sealed as the wind chases the leaves around us, sending goosebumps running up and down my spine. Or maybe that’s the effect this topic has on me.  
“How do you know her?” the harsh question makes me wince mentally, but on the outside I prove that my nickname, Ice Witch, is not given by the lack of a better collocation of words.  
The drop of temperature, the howl of the blizzard and the fact that I ooze iciness make Fenrir’s fur stand up. Eyeing me with a look that speaks of how childish I react, I return his glare with one of my own.   
“Don’t fret like a toddler. I have no ill to say of her.” his sighs.  
The sound comes out as a weak hush of wind and has me gritting my teeth.  
“I’d wish you don’t speak of her at all. Those are times long passed, buried in the veils of time. Do not disturb them.”   
Silence drops around us like a thick cloak, sucking away the remains of good will. The subject of my parenthood is not to be approached. Period. Yet the wolf seems to be keen on telling me a story that I obviously have no interest in listening, or so I make it look. His sharp mind and calculating eyes know better. Under the layers of coldness, frost and apartness, there’s this little girl who never came to know the gentle touch of a mother, the reassuring embrace of a father and the loving circle of relatives. Now her interest is pricked as every slice of information feeds her desire to find herself in a labyrinth of stone walls, erected to protect her, me, from the ones that will do us harm.   
“I was there the night you were born.” throwing the bomb light-handedly like that has me sucking in breath sharply, the whooshing sound coming out slightly comical.   
I’d have opened my mouth and told him off, probably even left, wasn’t it for the fact that for once I am raided speechless. Having barely seconds’ worth of time to process this, Fenrir continues in a steady, low voice, filled with warmth like he’s returning to those moments long past with the sense of not only pride but also happiness.   
“It was a small cottage somewhere in Rohan. Doriallin had chosen it for its seclude location as well as to ensure no one would enter and try to harm you. A storm was raging outside that night – a blizzard that hurled troops of snow left and right, as if they were hay.” the distant tune in his voice carries the weight of the years that have passed since then. “She was a woman with spirit, your mother – a fire soul that knew no limits or restrictions for those she loved. You took that recklessness from her; she never knew when to draw the line, to step back and let events unfold as they should. People’s misery made her sad and reluctant to do anything else but aid them.”  
Another cold gust of wind sweeps past us, picking up the loose strands of my hair and twirling them around. The longing I sense in Fenrir’s voice makes me want to question him, to urge him to keep on speaking, yet the woman knows better than to let herself be led by the curiosity of the child, so I press my lips tightly together and continue gazing ahead, not really seeing anything.  
“I know not who your father is or how he came to meet your mother, but the one thing I’m sure of is that she knew she was loved, even when he was not there to help her. Her irrevocable faith and devotion to him, to a Wizard, made her stray away from the lands of men. A woman carrying an offspring such as you was condemned and avoided. Doriallin tried to pretend it didn’t bother her, that people’s animosity and coldness had no effect on her. I was there by the time her pregnancy became evident and saw how she was treated.” a growl sounds in the silence, and I can’t be entirely sure who it came from.  
The very though that my mother became an outcast because of her love for a man who the society knew nothing of and thus shunned makes me want to hit something. Hard.  
“She loved you enough to know birthing you into her hometown would lead to your inevitable death. So she fled. I found her some time later, hiding in an abandoned hut in a forest. She didn’t ask of me to help her, or chase away those who had ill intentions. Her caring nature prevented Doriallin from having even a streak of resentment towards those who turned their backs to her. No, she was too good for such low acts.”  
“I stayed until it was evident you wanted to see the world. Your mother was ecstatic, yet worried. The thought of someone sneaking in and hurting you made her weary and jumpy. So I guarded the door as she and two of her closest friends that came to help stayed inside. You gave your mother a run for her money, though. It was hours by the time she stopped screaming.”  
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I can clearly envision the act unfolding before my eyes, prompted by Fenrir’s words.   
“I entered once I sensed it was appropriate.” here he frowns, as if the memory disturbs, even angers him in a way. “You were huddled in you mothers hands, your little red and slimy face resting on her breast. You didn’t cry out even once, only blinked your big lilac eyes at her. The eeriness in the room was so thick that the women who helped her bring you into this world stepped away, as if both of you were sick. They said it was a bad sign when the baby doesn’t cry; that it was sick or possessed by an evil spirit. The superstitious twats looked as if they were about to flee, the sheer sight of you making them question their loyalty. I could smell the stench of their fear as it was clogging them like a veil.”  
“Doriallin called me to her. She was also unsettled by your lack of response and by something in your eyes. When I rose to stare down at you, hoping my looks would set you off and you’d finally cry, I saw what had your mother’s never judging eyes glassed over with concern. For a new-born infant, still red and squishy, you had the intelligent spark of a soul that has seen a lot more that acceptable. An old soul, she said.”  
His abrupt stop makes me claw at the ground. Prejudice be damned, my whole being is now zeroed on Fenrir and the story as I can imagine the room, the reaction and the smell as if I was there. The sickening twist in my lower stomach and the realisation that soon enough he’ll say my mother passed away are still flowing below the barrier of awareness.   
What he said it true – back in the lands of the Rohan it’s a bad omen if the baby doesn’t cry out seconds after it takes its first breath of air. A fable says it’s because a demon has stolen its soul and now lives in the frail shell, surely one day to cause great disdain to those around it.  
“You giggled. At the sight of me, once your peculiar eyes zeroed on mine, you laughed and the twinkle in those lilac discs of yours made your mother’s eyes water. The hags fled right that instant, murmuring stuff.”  
The sign of laughter is even worse than the lack of response. While the silence stands for something bad living in you, the giggle represents death. Those who are born with a smile on their mouth are believed to be people sick, with minds littered by thoughts carrying the stamp of hell. Spawns of the Devil, they call them, bearers of Death and Ruin. Back in my mind a story I once heard surfaces, making the blood drain from my face – a woman had given birth to twins, a miraculous event known to be a sign of fertility and the god’s good will. The throwback? The one cried out immediately upon breathing in the gulps of life while the other smiled, thus the latter meeting its immediate death despite the mother’s wails for mercy. Clawing my way out of that memory, I shiver and unconsciously wrap my hands closer around my middle. ‘A child meant to never walk the earth. A Death bearer.’ Gulping as an awful realisation settles in, I almost jump out of my skin as a low growl vibrates in the air. Stealing a look at the wolf, I note he seems like he’s frowning at me, the jade of his eyes now holding a shadowy glace to it.   
“She loved you, Isis. Even when the realisation of what your jingle of bells meant, she kept you close to her heaving chest until her very last breath.”   
The wind whooshes in the crown of the trees, carrying our way the distant sound of human speech. The hum of life reaches us even here, on this distant scrape of land, where history unfolds itself in a way I never knew it would. For as long as I have been walking the lands, I knew my past would remain a black blotch and nothing more – a mother that came from nowhere and died, a father whose name stays a mystery, and no knowledge of any other relatives. Now, as I gaze up at the welkin and spot the round fat moon, I can’t help the small snort that skips me.  
“Why tell me this now? You have known me for more than I imagined, yet you decide to tell me the story of my past now, when it no longer holds any significance to me? What good will it do?”   
“Your past moulds your future. A soul without a story to tell, is a soul lost. And I never told you because you weren’t ready back then.”  
“And how come I bear any readiness now?”   
“Now you want to have a future.” Fenrir’s head nods towards Dale. “With them. But in order to have a chance, you must amend with your past. And what past is there to settle, if you have no knowledge of it? You were born with the stamp of Death on you, Isis. All the stars and even the weather showcased your lack of any code for life whatsoever. And yet here you are – outliving your bad fortune, washing it away with blood, tears and sweat. The Old Laws have pardoned you of your birth destiny by now.”  
“The Old Laws pardon no one.” the low mutter gets suffocated by yet another howl of the wind as it picks up speed and brings along certain chilliness.  
“The good deeds you have accomplished are by what your soul shall be measured, child. Bear that in mind when your star begins to flicker and die out.” the wise advice dies out seconds later as the Great wolf lays his head over his paws and seems to have drifted asleep.  
The only indicator of his awareness is the slight twitch on his ears as he picks up sounds that are far too distant for me. A comfortable silence settles in as my mind wonders around, various questions irked forward by the claims of the wolf. Do I really have no future, unless I lay to rest the past? Do I even want a future? My gaze unintentionally gets drawn by Dale’s lights and despite being impossible, I search for a certain male’s outlines. ‘What has gotten to my head to believe a man shall ever want someone like me? Claimer of Death…’   
“What happened after that? How did I end up across of Rohan?” the question slips past my chapped lips, as the curiosity that’s been awaken is still not seated.  
“I hid you in the only place you wouldn’t be frowned upon – Glaciem. The frost folk took you in with a sense of compassion, which grew into devoted love and adoration as soon as your abilities piped up.”  
The earliest memories that stayed engraved in the back of my vast memory are exactly from that period – when I was still young compared to now, yet old back then, and skipped across the snow-covered hills like a deer. It was a life free of any worry, trouble or fear. I believed myself invincible as my powers had just bloomed. How naïve I had been to believe magic solves all problems and riddles. A lesson toughly learned was the moment I faced the other world – where I once again became the freak, the other. My looks and character, my speech even was what set the normal, mundane people, off. They saw me as a probable trouble, a lone rider whose eyes only lingered on the shiny things. ‘Maybe their fear was a sense of self-preservation – they sensed the bad omen I carried along.’ the bitter thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth as all the hateful looks I have received throughout the years come back flooding my mind.   
“You loved her, didn’t you? My mother?”  
His uncharacteristically green eyes glance at me, a silent warning not to broach this topic flaking in them like flames. A call for deaf ears, that is.  
“You speak with such fondness of her, with such passion that it doesn’t take great knowledge to figure it out.”   
There’s no accusation in my tone, no disgust or even cold ignorance – there’s just the understanding of another leaving being whose heart has been captured by the one it can never have. We share a look of acknowledgement before Fenrir once again closes his eyes and lays his head down. My hand on its own ends up buried into the fur, as my fingers tread through the hairs with gentle strokes. The moon, up until now hidden behind the clouds, now peeks at us, its cold iridescent shine colouring the snow with milky hues. ‘The snow, covered with the blood of so many creatures. I have come to survive so many battles in my existence. And for what? What did I learn? What did I achieve? No greatness awaits me here, and no pardon in the afterlife. I have been destined to be no one, a confider of death and frost. A witch in the true sense of the word.’ a sad smile pulls at my lips as another cold whiff of the wind tugs at my hair.   
The moment Fenrir’s heart stops, the space around us freezes for a painfully silent second. Everything becomes eerily still, awaiting the beast to reawaken and chase away the shadows with its fierce growl. He doesn’t. He won’t. The soul has departed the body, leaving it a battered shell amidst other shells. In-between a heartbeat, the second passes and time resume its natural course. It all appears the same, yet it’s not. ‘Or maybe I have changed?’ my eyes finally stop on Fenrir’s cooling form. He looks at peace, finally. The burden of a world in which he’s unwanted, unappreciated and feared, where he’s utterly alone in the saddest sense of the word has finally eased off his shoulders. He’s free, at last. The last Dire wolf has passed to the afterlife.   
The sky, mostly clear and steady seconds ago, now suddenly gets covered with black, heavy with raindrops clouds. It takes them a single whiff of the wind to open, and water pours down in cold showers, washing away the blood, dirt and horror left over after the battle. My hands come to stand on my sides as I watch the red rivers run down the slope, and as they trail down and mix with the rest, a song sung in a time long gone comes to mind. ‘A fitting finale to tonging’s slaughter.’

Where rivers run red  
flowers will bloom  
as the last of the Great  
finds his doom.  
The sky will drizzle  
and the wind will howl  
as sword and fangs  
shall be no more.  
Mourn him not, brothers of Old  
as the once fierce and mighty  
he seeks not your call…

Tears stream down my face and mix with the rain. I no longer know what I mourn – my fate, sealed the second I opened my eyes and saw the world; my past, filled with horror after horror; the present, filled with havoc and death far beyond my control; or the future and its unknown unfolding. Who will die tomorrow? Or in a year’s time? Who shall be the next to breathe in the poisonous evaporation that seem to be clogging the air around me?   
There’s nothing I can do to stop the flow now – the tears, gathered with years on end, now come rushing out, robbing me of any power or sanity left. Shaking by something far stronger than the coldness, I bend in half and allow the grief to finally find its release. I can’t hold it back any longer. I shan’t.   
As the sky cries with me, mourning the dead and purifying the land; just like the day of my birth, the day I got injured by the Orc attack and many other occasions, now the weather responds to my turmoil. The wind picks up speed and makes the trees bow down with respect for the fallen; picking up the dust and leaves, it carries the message of forgone havoc further away to unknown lands.   
A desperate, petty scream rips from my chest as I throw my head back and shout at the skies. In the distance a thunder responds before its light splits the black welkin. There’s no moon now to show the way. It seems it has stolen the hope with it as well.  
Crestfallen, I slump back on the ground and close my eyes. Frost picks at my body like a thin layer of new skin, covering me in a protecting embrace. I’m wrecked beyond repair, drowning with no one to hear my screams. It has all came to an end. A full circle. I’m reborn through his death. Forgiven by the Old by his voice and purified by the rain, the tears of the fallen.   
“I shan’t fall in their steps, Wholly Mother, as ice never creases the fire twice. Be my guide now, as I have been a blind servant to the wrong Faith. Call back your demons and restrain your hounds, as I shan’t fall back in their steps.” reciting the Old Vow of Pledging, my low whispers get swallowed by the revolting of the sky.  
The Mother has heard my plea. A thunder far away strikes before it dies out, never to appear again. And she has responded.  
My eyes open and I gaze at the infinite blackness of the welkin. ‘Tonight we mourn those who lost their lives. Tomorrow we will build for those who have been left behind to wallow.’ The new resolve breathes in a new breathe of life in my breast and I sit up, making the ice shell that has enveloped me in a moment of resignation crack and crumble. ‘I shall not fall twice to despair. I will amend my past, will live my present and anticipate my future.’  
“The Frost Witch fell tonight. It’s time for the Evocatrix to wake up again.” the crackle that comes from the sky resembles a hearty laughter.   
I have Vowed.


End file.
